The Thu'um Within
by Lady Luna83
Summary: I'm a Daedra. And to add to the mix I'm also a Dragonborn. I didn't ask for this, yet I must accept my fate, my destiny the gods have bestowed upon me. Little did I know what I had to overcome, to sacrifice to save Skyrim.
1. Prologue Part 1: The Winter of 3E 418

Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to TES. Bethesda does.

Prologue Part 1: The Winter of 3E 418

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><p>The winter of 3E 418 was one of the worst winters Skyrim ever experienced. Food was scarce. Supplies and medicine were hard to come by. Clans and families outside of Skyrim's main strongholds struggled to survive.<p>

Skadi Fireguard's Nord clan, the Eir, was starving. The harsh winter forced her and other skilled hunters to trek south to Cyrodiil to the Jerall Mountains where a large herd of elk was known to migrate to. Skadi and her clansmen were lone hunters, preferring trekking in isolation rather than hunting in groups.

Skadi fought the cold, biting air as she stalked a lone doe through the woods. The lightness of her fur armor and boots allowed her to stealthily maneuver through the snow and rocky terrain. The only audible sound was the gentle rustle of bare tree branches in the winter breeze.

Little did she know she was being hunted herself.

A massive, golden wolf stalked Skadi while she pursued the doe. He was intrigued with this delicate yet strong, mortal woman. He had watched her over the seasons. Seen her hunt. Seen her kill beasts, his beasts. She glorified in the hunt as much as he did.

Multiple howls and low growls echoed throughout the dense forest. Skadi's eyes continuously scanned for danger as she proceeded to hunt the doe. Her heart raced and breathing quickened as Skadi strained to control her fear. She knew a pack of wolves was nearby, and she and the other hunters were possibly in danger.

The golden wolf remained undetected as he followed the unsuspecting huntress. He could effortlessly rip out her throat before she could defend herself. However, her beauty and finesse captivated him. He lusted for her, wanting her all to himself. She was perfect. She was his.

Skadi notched an arrow in her bow, aiming it at the doe quietly grazing the grass sprouting through the blanket of snow. She exhaled slowly, calmly, readying to release the arrow.

The golden wolf howled, startling Skadi, causing the arrow to go wide and missing the doe. The huntress spun around in terror, simultaneously notching another arrow and aiming at the man who now stood a few feet away from her.

The man before her wore nothing but a knee length, hide cloth that wrapped around his hips along with matching hide boots. An elk skull with large antlers and hollow, empty eye sockets concealed his face. He held a long spear and causally leaned against it, arrogantly smiling at Skadi, his eyes blazing bright gold through the skull mask.

Skadi released the arrow, sending it sailing towards the man's heart. He laughed, amused as he caught it in mid air with ease.

The huntress reached into her quiver to ready another arrow. The man charged at her at incredible speed. He batted her bow out if her grasp with his spear, disarming her with ease. He grasped onto her wrist, pulling her forcefully to him. He held her tightly against his bare chest, arms wrapped around her. Warm, soothing tranquility seeped deep into Skadi's core as he pacified her with a calming spell.

She didn't struggle. Didn't fight. The huntress returned the embrace. Skadi reached out to his skull mask. Her gentle fingers caressing the smooth bone. The man grabbed each of the antlers and carefully removed the mask, revealing the handsome face underneath. She exhaled deeply as she gazed up into the man's golden eyes, soaking in his essence, his power.

"Hircine," she breathed.

"Skadi, my Skadi," Hircine whispered as he ran his clawed fingers through her long, chocolate brown hair. "How I have dreamt of this moment." He leaned his head down, his lips caressing Skadi's, kissing her passionately.

Skadi thought she heard the terrifying screams of other hunters mixed with guttural, animal growls in the distance, but Hircine drowned every coherent thought. The only emotion she felt was the strong need to immerse herself in him.

"Come with me, my huntress," Hircine spoke into her ear.

"Yes, my prince," Skadi replied.

Hircine gathered his huntress into his arms and disappeared silently into the woods. She didn't even notice the werewolves indulging in the fresh meat of their recent kills, savoring the warm blood running down their throats. Didn't see the blood-soaked snow, evidence of the savage massacre of her beloved Eir hunters.

Skadi staggered into her camp. Her head and body ached, heavy with exhaustion. She couldn't remember much of the past two days. Everything was a complete blur. She recalled the journey to Cyrodiil with the hunters in search for food but didn't remember events of the hunt or how she returned to camp. She assumed the other hunters returned home sometime before her.

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><p>Camp was quiet. Dead quiet.<p>

Skadi called out for her husband, her three sons, her clan. No one responded to her calls.

Skadi trudged to the heart of camp. The haze in Skadi's mind cleared and was replaced with extreme horror. Mangled human limbs and disfigured corpses littered the ground, corrupting the innocence of the pure and white snow. Tendrils of smoke rose from the embers of the charred remains of their huts. Elders, warriors, women and children. All brutally slaughtered.

A soft whimper grabbed her attention. Skadi whipped around, desperately searching for the the source of the sound. She heard the murmur again coming from a pile of dismembered limbs and torsos. Skadi tore at the carnage, praying to Talos there was a survivor. Tears spilled from Skadi's eyes, and her body convulsed in anguish. Buried underneath was the mutilated body of her youngest son.

"Oh my gods, Brand!" Skadi wept as she clutched the her son's mangled body. "What happened?"

Brand struggled to speak. His breath was shallow and uneven. "Werewolves came and attacked the camp." Brand coughed painfully, blood gurgling out of his mouth like a bubbling red fountain. "Hircine took warriors to his Hunting Grounds. He ordered the werewolves to kill everyone else."

Brand coughed harder, choking on the blood spilling out. His eyes becoming glassy while his breathing slowed. His blood smeared face contorted in pain. Skadi lovingly caressed her son's cheek and moved his blood-caked golden blond hair from his brow. Anguish overcame her. She couldn't stop the shaking that rattled through her.

"I love you, Brand. My dearest son," Skadi whispered, the tears cascading down her flushed cheeks. "Sovngarde awaits."

Brand looked at his mother one last time as took in his last breath. Exhaled slowly. His eyes dilating. His body going limp in his mother's arms.

Cradling her dead son in the blood-stained snow, Skadi wailed out to the heavens in heartbreaking agony.

Nine months later, I was born.

-0-


	2. Prologue Part 2: Birth of the Gift

Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to TES. Bethesda does.

Prologue Part 2: Birth of the Gift

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><p>A young girl dressed in a deer hide belted tunic and knee length hide boots crept up on an unsuspecting hare. Her long dark, chocolate brown hair was tied back into a tail and hung loosely over her shoulder. As she neared the hare, she dug out her hunting sling out of her tunic pocket. She picked up a small, rounded rock off the ground and placed it in sling's leather cradle. With a flick of her wrist, she began twirling the sling. Around and around the sling spun, gaining momentum. Once the hare was within range, she flicked her wrist again, releasing the stone from the cradle and shooting it directly at the unsuspecting hare. The stone smashed into the hare's skull, killing it instantly. The girl smiled triumphantly and ran to retrieve her kill.<p>

At eleven cycles, Brynhild Fireguard was already a skilled hunter. Her mother, Skadi Fireguard of the Eir, made sure her daughter practiced hunting skills and techniques regularly. Not only was she exceptional with a sling, bow and dagger, she also practiced alchemy and basic spell casting. Skadi felt it was crucial for her daughter to possess the capability to not only defend herself, but to treat her ailments and sickness with potions and ingredients from the earth. The world is a cruel place and it would be to Brynhild's advantage if she was skilled in every aspect of survival: archery, sneak, alchemy, weaponry and basic spell casting.

With her trophy in tow, Brynhild hiked to her home the Danes clan, southwest of Riften. Skadi and her have been members of the Danes for Brynhild's whole life. Eleven cycles ago they took the then pregnant Skadi into their fold. Skadi's own clan, the Eir, was slaughtered by the Daedric Prince, Hircine after he captured the clan's top warriors as participants in his Hunting Game, including her husband and two eldest sons. Brynhild had no knowledge about her brothers or her Eir heritage.

Skadi now dedicated her life, her very existence to protecting Brynhild. She didn't know if Hircine was aware he had a young daughter, but she could assume he would not be too fond of the thought of a half Daedric Nord, his half Daedric Nord, running around Tamriel. Hircine would want to exterminate Brynhild as soon as possible. Or worse, abduct her and have her live in his Oblivion.

Skadi didn't know how much of Brynhild's father's traits she inherited. She prayed to the Divines her daughter was mostly human. She had all the characteristic Nord physical features except for her skin and eyes. Most Nords were pale due to the snowy climate and limited sun exposure. However, Brynhild .had her father's sunkissed bronzed skin. It was clearly obvious she was a mixed race. Her eyes were vibrant amber gold, radiating in mysterious power, just like her father's.

As Brynhild grew up, most of the Danes distanced themselves from her due to these unique differences. They didn't know exactly what she was but knew she was not one of them. The children were afraid of her because of her skin and eye color. The adult men and women didn't care for her because she was not a legitimate member of their clan. Almost all of the elders saw Brynhild's existence amongst the clan as an omen, a premonition of dread and suffering. Skadi felt Brynhild was destined for something bigger and greater than anyone could possibly comprehend. She believed Brynhild's uniqueness would prove advantageous in the future. What kind of advantage, no one would know until the time came.

Brynhild was almost at home when she heard the piercing howls. She thought it incredibly odd the wolves were encroaching the clan's borders.

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><p>Inside camp, Skadi heard the howls. Dread radiated down her spine, and her face paled. She knew those howls. Memories of that horrible day flooded back, drowning her in pure fear.<p>

In a matter of seconds the screams came.

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><p>Brynhild took off in a sprint once she heard the screams, racing as fast as she could towards home.<p>

Oxygen burned her lungs, her heart kicked into overdrive as she ran. A sinking feeling of trepidation devoured her soul. She had to get back. Something horrible was about to happen.

The werewolves attacked mercilessly. No one was safe. The beasts tackled the Danes with little resistance, ripped into their flesh with large, serrated teeth. Blood sprayed in all directions as clan members were disemboweled and dismembered, experiencing excruciating pain as the Lycanthropes feasted on them alive.

Skadi and other Danes hunters dodged the werewolves as they fired poisoned arrows in attempt to debilitated the beasts. The warriors would then finish off the downed beasts, slashing, bashing and slicing with swords, maces and waraxes.

Brynhild raced into camp. Shock paralyzed her as she witnessed the butchering of the Danes. Never has she seen no much blood. It flowed like crimson rivers, corrupting the once harmonious home of the clan.

More werewolves howled in victory as more screams of agony filled the air.

"Brynhild!"

Brynhild snapped out of her daze and spotted her mother racing towards her, notching her bow with another arrow.

Brynhild unsheathed her two daggers, readying herself for an attack and ran to her mother.

"Brynhild! My Gods! Are you okay?" she panted. "Get down!" Skadi fired the arrow at a werewolf galloping towards them. The arrow hit it's mark, right between the eyes causing the beast to stumble and hit the ground. Brynhild jumped onto the grounded werewolf's back and grabbed its head, yanking it back to expose its neck. She slit its throat with one dagger and stabbed it in the heart with the other. The werewolf gurgled before collapsing to the ground dead, blood pooling around the lifeless body.

Skadi yanked her daughter up to her feet. "Run!" she yelled hysterically as she shoved her towards a direction to run. "We have to get out of here now! Before he comes!"

Brynhild hurdled over dead bodies of her former clan members while at a full sprint. "Before who comes," she panted.

The loud, deep, reverberating sound from a horn blasted through the camp.

Skadi's eyes widened in horror. "Keep running!" she screamed.

The werewolves howled in unison. Their master has arrived. Panic pulsed through Skadi as she and Brynhild continued to flee.

They were too late.

Werewolves tackled Skadi and Brynhild from behind. The beasts' sharp, jagged claws sank deep into their shoulders, pinning them to the ground. The women were helpless against the weight and power of the werewolves.

Skadi turned her head to her daughter as the werewolf pressed her into the earth. Tears spilled from her bloodshot eyes. "I'm so sorry, Bryn."

"Mother..." Brynhild struggled to reach for her mother under the weight of the beast. The werewolf grabbed her wrist forcefully and squeezed. Brynhild screamed as it shattered the bones in her wrist.

A man laughed. Brynhild looked up to see a large, muscular man standing over them. He wore a hide wrap around his waist and matching boots. A deer skull mask concealed his face, but his gold eyes glowed through the hollow eye sockets.

"Well, well, it's nice to see you again, my dearest Skadi," the man chuckled. "How have you been all these cycles? I've missed you so much."

"Hircine, I will kill you, you fetching bastard!" Skadim, her voice full of hatred. She struggled to break free from the werewolf's grasp, which resulted in it holding her down even more. Skadi grunted as the werewolf sunk it's claws deeper into her shoulders, tearing further into muscle and tendons.

Hircine placed a clawed hand over his heart, pretending he was hurt. "My dear, how could you say such cruel words to a former lover?"

Confusion raced through Brynhild's mind. Lover? What was he talking about? What's going on?

"You raped me!" anger dripping from Skadi's words. "You debilitated me with a damn spell and then raped me!"

Hircine laughter bellowed. "Seducing you was never my original intention. I needed strong warriors for my Hunt, and your Eir clan happened to have the best participants, actually more like prey for my little game. You, my sweet, were a bonus."

Hircine motioned to the werewolf to get up off Skadi and to stand her up. Skadi shoved the werewolf away from her as she got to her feet. The werewolf growled, baring its blood-stained teeth in response.

"I thoroughly enjoyed my time with you," Hircine mused. "I do hope you decide to stay with me forever this time rather than run back to your pathetic family."

"You killed my family!" shouted Skadi as she balled her fists by her sides, her body shaking in anger. "My husband! My sons! My clan!"

Brynhild gasped in shock. She had brothers? A father? Why hadn't her mother told her about them? Why were they kept hidden from her for so many years?

Hircine waved his hand dismissing Skadi's rants. "Your husband was hardly a man since he was the first to die on my Hunting Grounds. Your two sons held their own for a while but were no match for my pets. Your youngest son, well, he put up a fight. It's too bad he was too damaged to play the game. Killing him would have been fun."

Skadi screamed a battle cry and lunged at Hircine. He quickly fired a telekinesis spell, forcefully throwing her down to the ground, the air knocked out of Skadi's lungs.

Hircine chuckled, "Foolish woman. You dare try to take on a Daedric Prince? The Huntsman, no less?"

Hircine spotted Brynhild, her furious gold eyes searing his own with rage, her mouth contorted in a snarl. He took a few steps towards her, curious about her and why Skadi was with her.

"Get her up," he snapped his fingers at the werewolf still pinning Brynhild to the ground. The werewolf obeyed, retracting his claws from Brynhild's back and yanked her up to her feet. Brynhild muffled crying out in pain from her broken hand. She cradled it against her chest to protect it.

The corner of Hircine's mouth tilted upward forming a smirk as he leaned over to be at eye level with Brynhild. "My, aren't you a pretty little thing?"

"You stay away from her," Skadi cried, rising to her feet. "She is none of your concern. Leave her be."

Hircine tilted his head and stared deep into Brynhild's eyes. His curiosity grew. He sensed something familiar with this little, yet strong girl.

Brynhild sneered at the Daedric Prince as he moved closer. With his right hand he grabbed her face, tilting it from one side to another, inspecting her. He leaned closer to her, sniffing her, trying understand her scent. Hircine backed away and gazed into Brynhild's eyes as if he were peering into her soul. "What are you?"

He soaked her in. Her gold eyes. Her bronzed skin. Her strength for someone so young and small. Her familiar scent. The fact Skadi was protecting her...as if she were her own child.

Hircine narrowed his eyes. He removed his right index finger and dragged his claw from the bottom of her right eye to the middle of her cheek. Brynhild winced as the claw dug into her soft flesh, blood trickling from the wound. Hircine's eyes widened in shock. Brynhild's blood was a silvery crimson color.

"She's a Daedra!" he bellowed and ripped off his elk skull mask, revealing his face. He pulled Brynhild's face right up to his. His eyes burned in anger. "Who are you?"

"Brynhild Fireguard, you fetching bastard," she said proudly, refusing to show fear or weakness.

"But you're Daedra."

Brynhild didn't respond.

Hircine shoved her away with his hand, causing Brynhild to stumble back a few steps, but she never broke eye contact with the Prince. Hircine looked down at his hand, Brynhild's blood smeared on his fingers. He brought his fingers to his nose and sniffed. He then licked his fingers, tasting Brynhild's blood. He mulled the blood over his tongue as if tasting a fine, aged wine.

Hircine's eyes snapped back to Brynhild. His nostrils flared and his eyes burned in fury. "You're my daughter?"

Brynhild eyes widened in terror. What did he say?

Hircine flashed to Skadi, gripped her by the throat and lifted her into the air. Skadi pawed at his hand, gasping for air and trying to break free from Hircine's grasp. She felt a spell seep into her. A spell meant to leach her health and weaken her.

"You bitch," Hircine spat. "You kept her hidden from me this whole time? If you valued her life, you would have summoned me. She's mine!"

"You'll never have her," breathed Skadi.

Hircine roared in anger. He unsheathed a Daedric dagger and pressed it against her neck, the blade against her carotid artery. She tried to jerk her head away from the dagger but Hircine pressed it further into her throat causing blood to trickle down her neck.

"The way I see it you have two choices," threatened Hircine, facing Brynhild. "Either you come with me to the Hunting Grounds or your mother dies. Right. Now."

"Don't you dare..." Skadi shouted but was cut off by Hircine pressing the blade further into her flesh.

"Fine," agreed Brynhild. "I'll go with you but you let my mother go this instant."

"As you wish." Hircine lifted his dagger and released Skadi.

Skadi took off running towards Brynhild. She didn't even see Hircine behind her. She never saw it coming. Brynhild's eyes went wide in horror as Hircine thrusted his dagger deep into Skadi's back. Skadi gasped as Hircine twisted the blade deeper, tearing through muscles, organs and major blood vessels. Blood poured from the gaping hole in the middle of Skadi's back.

Brynhild screamed.

Hircine shoved Skadi forward with the sole of his boot, laughing in amusement as she fell to the earth. Blood pooled around her still, motionless body. The dagger still lodged in her back.

Brynhild felt like she was going to explode. She absolutely hated this man, loathed him from the depths of her soul. An eleven year old should never experience this much abhorance. Not this much hate. Not at this age. Not with this much innocence.

Brynhild's blood boiled. She roared with thunderous rage. Brynhild called to Talos for aid. She prayed for strength. Prayed for help. Prayed for anything and everything that would send the evil bastard to Oblivion and never return to Nirn.

Talos heard her.

Instantly, raw, pulsating power pumped through Brynhild's veins. The earth shook directly underneath her, the vibrations adding to her growing power. Her body burned as if on fire, and she felt the heat scorch her to the core.

Brynhild's primal instincts kicked in.

She roared, releasing all her anger, all her hate and sorrow. The ground shook underneath, fueling her power. Energy welled up inside, building, growing and intensifying.

Hircine stared in awe for a fraction of a second before he realized the danger he was in. Brynhild was about to explode. He wasn't fast enough to open a portal to his Oblivion before Brynhild released her power.

The tiny eleven year old opened the flood gates and bellowed with all her strength. Brynhild didn't recognize the foreign words forming on her tongue. She didn't care. Instincts took over as she surrendered her body, her mouth, her soul to the higher power that coursed through her, begging for release. Begging to destroy.

A massive pulse of energy blasted from Brynhild's mouth as she shouted the foreign words. The energy quickly morphed into a raging fireball aimed directly at Hircine.

Hircine quickly put up a ward spell, deflecting most of the fire. The remaining werewolves howled as the flames engulfed them, their bodies charred and scorched and becoming lifeless.

The fires ceased, leaving a bewildered Brynhild and Hircine. How could so much power come from such a small, young individual? Where did that power come from?

"Enough," Hircine bellowed. "Stay here with the pathetic mortals. I'll hunt you down for the rest of your remaining days. I promise you that."

Hircine summoned a portal to his realm. Bright green light crackled and popped around it's edges.

"I'll see you," Hircine snarled as he stepped through the portal. "Happy hunting."

He disappeared into the green light, the portal closing behind him.

Brynhild snapped out of her stupor when she heard faint moans coming from her mother. Brynhild rushed to her mother. Tears welled in her eyes at the sight of the bloodied and broken woman, teetering between life and death.

"Mother," choked Brynhild as she rolled Skadi to her side. "It's okay. I can fix this."

Brynhild was lying to herself. She knew her mother wasn't going to survive. The wound was too devastating and she lost too much blood to recover. Skadi's shallow breathing was irregular and uneven. Her skin had paled due to the loss of blood. Brynhild knew the delicate tether linking her to life was about to break.

A faint smile crept across Skadi's pale lips. "I knew you were blessed."

Brynhild wiped away the falling tears from her wyes. "With what, Mother? I don't understand."

"The gift..." breathed Skadi. Her eyes fluttered closed, the fragile tether finally snapping as Skadi exhaled a final time. She was gone.

Brynhild gathered her mother into her arms. Heartbreaking sobs wracked through her body. She had lost everything in less than a day. She had no home. No family. No friends. She was alone. She was empty.

Brynhild pulled the Daedric dagger out of her mother's back, the sickening sound of metal scraping against bone and flesh echoed in her ears. She wiped off the blood on her tunic and carefully sheathed it.

The innocence of my youth was lost that day, stolen. The empty void replaced by hatred and isolation, corrupting my once pure soul.

-0-

I'd really appreciate any and all reviews. This is my first fanfic attempt and any comments and critiques would be awesome. Thanks! Happy holidays everyone! :D

_-LadyLuna83_


	3. Chapter 1: Let the Hunt Begin

Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to TES. Bethesda does.

Chapter 1: Let the Hunt Begin

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><p>I'm on the hunt. The damn thief deserves to die. The challenge has been issued, and I eagerly accept.<p>

I hiked my way out of the snow covered Jerall Mountain Pass and was now in Skyrim, the homeland of my ancestors. A fetching Breton ransacked my camp in the mountains while I was out butchering an elk carcass a mile away. Luckily I caught whiff of his foul odor as I made my way back to camp.

The male sure made a mess of things. He hastily scavenged through every burlap sack and satchel. Too bad for him I keep all my prized valuables on me: my Talos amulet and a Daedric dagger. He did swipe a quiver full of bone arrows that took me days to carve. The Breton will pay for that, with his blood.

I learned everything from my mother. How to hunt. How to create potions and poultices from the land's flora and fauna. How to move as though invisible. How to survive. I had to learn young. When you live in a world of kill or be killed, you do everything in your power to ensure you live.

My mother was the legendary Skadi Fireguard from the once thriving Eir Clan of Skyrim. Stories are still told about her across the land in taverns, around campfires and as bedtime stories. Tales about killing the great ice wraith north of Solitude with nothing but a pickax or slaying the Giant of Bleakwind Basin. Bards sing about her enchanting beauty, elegant grace and her deadly aim with a bow.

The infamous story about her being the lone survivor of the Eir Clan slayings in 3E 418 is only secretly whispered amongst the citizens of Skyrim. No one likes to openly discuss her abduction by the Huntsman or how she found her beloved clan, torn apart and scattered throughout the snow. Or how she sacrificed her own life to save her only living offspring. Her daughter. Me.

Those who were close to Skadi claimed I'm just like her. However, I inherited my ruthlessness, competitive nature and a certain level of a dark side from my father, the Daedric Prince, Hircine. I loath what he did to my mother and my people. Because of that bastard, I am the only living member of the Eir Clan, an orphan, nowhere to call home and no one to belong to.

Unlike Hircine, I don't like to kill for the sake of killing. And I don't kill innocents. That's one of my Golden Rules. There has to be a reason to kill. A challenge. A fight between hunter and prey. The more prey the better. Hircine's blood runs through me making me stronger, faster and in a way, a freak of nature. I'm not ashamed to say that I like it.

Hircine seduced, kidnapped and raped my mother then so blithely tossed her aside. To top things off he had his Lycanthropes feast on the flesh of the Eir. He also took the warriors he deemed worthy and forced them to participate in his Hunt Game on his plane of Oblivion. No Eir survived.

He also was responsible for the deaths of my three older half brothers. I'll never know them, the strong warriors they once were.

That bastard Daedra also slaughtered the Danes, my adopted clan since birth. His werewolves massacred most of the clan population for fun. I've vowed revenge for what Hircine and his flea-ridden beasts did to the Eir, the Danes, my brothers and my mother. My time for retribution will come.

Hircine knows I still exist. He's visited me three times in the past two hundred years, and the visits are usually not a happy family reunion. He hunts me to kill me, as if I'm a weak little fawn. I don't understand his motives, but for some unknown reason he allows me to escape with my life. Barely.

I don't brag to others what I am: an unusual aberration. A type of half-immortal who was left on her own at the age of eleven. The only items I fled with from that isolated, snowy forest in southern Skyrim was my mother's Elven bow, a Daedric dagger I pried from my mother's dead body, my Amulet of Talos, random supplies and an oversized leather armor set.

I mentioned I'm half-immortal. I can die. A witch told me so right before I slit her throat because she tried to poison me and steal my supplies. I won't spawn from the Waters of Oblivion like the Deadra. Once I die, I'm dead. I have to completely bleed out or lose my head in order to die. That's why vampires and sick, decapitating bastards are at the top of my "To Kill" list. I have to eat, sleep and do everything else mortals do to stay healthy. I suffer like they do. I bleed from wounds like they do. I can experience heartache like they do. I can't age though. One of the blessings of being that bastard Hircine's daughter. I stopped aging at twenty four cycles.

Once I die I'll go to whatever afterlife awaits me. I pray to Talos he will pardon a half Daedra like myself and bless me a place in glorious Sovngarde and return to my mother and brothers. It's not my fault I'm the consequence of my parent's unfortunate coupling. But until my time comes when I cross over into the afterlife, I will wander Tamriel to hunt, to kill, to live.

I've wandered all over the land for nearly two hundred cycles. Unfortunately Hircine kept his promise to hunt me. On one his three visits, my dear father so graciously gifted me with a pet wolf, Fang, as a companion to save me from utter boredom. On that same visit, Hircine also gave me a fur cuirass peeled from his own body, a reward for riddling his body with arrows and surviving another one his lovely father/daughter hunts. He said the cuirass would protect me from magicka attacks and poison ailments. A Savior's Hide he called it.

My mother's human traits keep me "civilized," allowing me to mingle with the citizens of Tamriel. Apparently I inherited her beauty and grace, yet most men can't handle me. Men have told me I'm too rough and not the preferred, dainty Imperial or Breton submissive type they can dominate or order around like a pretty pet. I don't mind. I've never been able to settle down in one place for too long anyways to really get to know someone. Romantic relationships aren't my forte. I vowed to keep my emotions on lockdown. I've broken that vow only and the end results weren't pretty: a lot of crying, a lot of heartache, and a lot of mead consumption. I don't do relationships, but I'm down for the occasional one night stand. I've got needs too, you know.

I could smell that filthy Breton just ahead. Fang began to pant in excitement and kept glancing up at me as if saying, "Let me rip his head off!"

"You will," I cooed at Fang, smiling as I reassured him. "Just a little bit further."

I scrambled up a boulder pile on the top of a hill to get a vantage point, searching for any sign of the Breton. I heard the clash of metal against metal as I climbed the boulders. Once I reached the peak, I shielded my eyes from the bright, midday sun.

Down below I saw a dozen or so men in the midst of battle. I recognized the armored uniform of the Imperial army. I've had my fair share of run-ins with those incompetent pigs throughout Cyrodiil. The Imperial Legion doesn't take kindly to my side profession as a mercenary for hire. I've been chased out of the Imperial City and Cheydinhal quite a few times for assassinations. I'm pretty confident there is still a kill-on-sight bounty in affect. However, those targets got what they deserved. If you've got the coin, I'll happily carry out the kill, as long as there is a legitimate reason for it. I always enjoy a good hunt, and the coin is nice too.

I took cover behind some boulders, making myself less likely to be detected by someone below or anyone else lurking nearby. I leaned against a rock and peered to the right to catch a glimpse of the action at the bottom of the hill.

Fang started whimpering. I could tell the blood was overpowering his senses. Blood has the tendency to drive a wolf's senses wild. With Fang, the coppery red life force drives him into a bloodlust frenzy.

"Easy, Fang," I comfort him as I ran my fingers through his soft, white fur.

The other group of men fighting against the Imperials looked like they were getting their asses handed to them. I could tell the men were Nords with their fair hair braided in a war fashion and their massive body size. Natural born warriors who aren't afraid to get their hands dirty. In my opinion, Nord men are by far the most handsome in all of Tamriel. I've been around the continent a few times and only the Nord men and the occasional Nord woman can appease my personal desires.

My competitive side wanted to dive into the battle and help my fellow brothers. However, it would be breaking one of my Golden Rules: don't get involved in other people's battles. It's inviting unwanted trouble.

Trouble is something I don't need. I've been around for far too long to take on unnecessary responsibilities. When the Oblivion Crisis broke out in Cyrodiil two hundred cycles ago, I sought refuge in the deserts of Elyswer. I tried to help when I could as I trekked to Elyswer by killing Daedra along the way. I even helped the Hero of Kvatch close three Oblivion gates. I'm not a coward. It's just not a good idea to be hanging out in the same area as other Daedra, and Cyrodiil was chock-full of Daedra at the time. Daedra can sense other Daedra. Since I am half Daedra myself, I didn't want to risk being captured by Mehrunes Dagon's lackeys. Once Dagon discovered I was Hircine's daughter, he sent Dremora assassins to sniff me out and capture me. Dagon had an ongoing feud with Hircine and really wanted to piss him off. Unfortunately for Dagon, Hircine preferred me dead so that plan wouldn't work. And since Dagon's plan wouldn't work, he'd kill me himself if he captured me. Or he would use me for his own personal needs, and I shudder at the thought of what those needs could be.

So don't get involved in other people's battles.

I saw a Nord warrior cut down by a bastard Imperial. My blood boiled at the sight. The last standing Nords bellowed battle cries for their fallen brother and charged the Imperials in a final attempt to overwhelm them.

"I will not get involved. I WILL NOT get involved," I repeated to myself.

Fang growled, jumped down off the boulders and tore off into the dense forest. Something obviously caught his attention. Before I had a chance to call Fang back, a sharp, stabbing pain pricks into my right side. I looked down to see an arrow penetrating through my Savior's Hide and piercing the flesh above my hip. I quickly dropped to a kneeling position, unsheathed my dagger and scanned my surroundings. I could hear the fetcher's breathing from a distance out in the woods.

Yanking the shaft out, the arrowhead cleanly dislodged from my side. I pressed my hand against the wound as blood began to trickle out. My wound burned as if on fire. My vision suddenly started to cloud and become hazy. I sniffed the arrowhead.

Hmmmm. That's interesting.

I'm hit again with another arrow. This time to the chest. Everything went black.

-0-

First chapter completed. I'd appreciate reviews or your thoughts. I'm looking for a betareader...I've sent a few PM's out but no one's responded. If you're interested, send me a message. I'd appreciate the help and advice. Merry Christmas! :D

_-LadyLuna83_


	4. Chapter 2: The Legends Were True

Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to TES. Bethesda does.

Hey everyone! Hope you all had a wonderful Christmas holiday with family and loved ones. It was difficult to find the time to write, but I did it! Here's another chapter.

Happy New Years! Here's to a great 2012!

Chapter 2: The Legends Were True

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><p>I sensed light through closed eyelids as I regained consciousness. I felt nauseated, my stomach queasy and in knots.<p>

A horse snorted, the repetitive click clack sound as its hooves hit the ground. The jarring movements from rolling over rocks and holes caused my head to bounce off the wooden bench I rested on. Wherever I was, I was moving. This wasn't good.

I struggled to pry open my eyes. The sun overhead blinded me. I could only make out various shades of grey as my eyes adjusted. Ugh, I felt like shit.

The arrows that struck me were laced with poison. I could smell the nightshade on the arrowhead. I knew the archer who stuck me wasn't in the mood to play. Damn Imperials. The poison was strong enough to penetrate my Savior's Hide protective enchantments.

My head lolled to the side. Sitting across from me was a large, muscled, blond Nord male. He was quietly conversing with someone near me. I couldn't see who the other person was let alone understand what the Nord was saying.

I attempted to blink the grogginess from my eyes. My body felt heavy and incredibly sore. My energy had been zapped out of me, sucked dry, leaving me weak and fragile. I couldn't even muster up a simple restoration spell for the life of me. Damn that fetching poison.

The blond Nord noticed my half-assed attempt to wake up. His blue eyes locked onto mine and he leaned forward. He's saying something to me, but I could not make out the words. Why were his hands bound?

I tried to sit up but my encumbered body refused to cooperate. "Sleep," the Nord said. My eyes rolled back, eyelids fluttering closed, and I welcomed the embrace of sleep as I slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

><p>My eyes snapped open. I instantly sat up, eyes darting around and trying to make sense of my surroundings. My hands were bound, tied up in rope. Where the fetch was I?<p>

"Look who decided to finally wake up?" the blond Nord joked.

"What in Oblivion is going on?" I panicked. Did I just panic? Yes, yes I did. If anyone was able to catch me by surprise and bind me, I would be in serious trouble because these things never happen to me. I mean ever. I'm the hunter. Not the hunted. This was not good.

I was still in a daze. This all felt like a horrible dream. I glanced around at the others in the wagon. There were two other Nord men and a Breton male. The very same Breton male who ransacked my camp. All bound and tied.

"You...," I spat at the Breton, glaring at him in ire. "You fetching s'wit!" I tried to stand up so I could strangle the wretched male. His intense glare cut through me. It was clear he wouldn't go down without a fight.

"Pipe down, little lady," he teased. "Wouldn't want to bruise that pretty face of yours."

I jackknifed to my feet. I was going to introduce the Breton to my fist, regardless if my hands were bound. Instantly I felt wobbly and my vision blurred.

A pair of strong, bound hands gripped onto my arm and yanked me into him, stopping me from kicking the Breton's teeth in.

"Easy, little one," the man whispered. "Save the strength you have." He released my arm once he felt certain my fury had quelled. He wore a braid at each temple in his unkempt, dirty blond hair. His presence commanded power and respect, his eyes a soulful, piercing blue.

"You settle down back there!" shouted the Imperial steering the wagon.

I instantly regretted getting worked up. Nausea coursed through my stomach and my head became fuzzy.

"You're feisty," the blond Nord chuckled. "I like that."

I shook the daze out of my head. "What's going on? Who are you people?"

"I'm Ralof," the blond Nord said. "The one sitting next to you is Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak. You and the Breton were caught crossing the Skyrim border by the Imperials. The two of us," he motioned to himself and Ulfric. "Were in the battle with the Imperial Legion. Him over there," he pointed at a bewildered looking Nord male sitting across from me. "He was caught stealing a horse."

"I wasn't stealing!" screeched the thief. "How many times do I have to tell you? I wasn't stealing?" He turned to me. "We shouldn't be here!" He turned to Ulfric then to Ralof, "This is your war, Stormcloaks. Not mine. I shouldn't be punished with you!"

"Talk won't get you anywhere, thief," replied Ralof. "All I know is Sovngarde awaits me."

He was taking about Sovngarde? Oh, great. Today was not my day to die.

The thief turned to Ulfric "This is your fault! You killed the High King! You brought civil war amongst the citizens of Skyrim. You and him," he angrily pointed Ralof. "Should be sent to death."

"Don't speak to Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak in that tone," boomed Ralof, anger radiating from him. "He's our future and rightful High King. Show respect!"

The Breton placed his head in his hands and sighed heavily. "This was the wrong time to come to Skyrim."

"Really?" I replied, annoyance seethed from me. "I'm still going to smash your face in once I get untied."

"She's a tigress," chuckled Ralof.

The Breton gave me a wink and a smug grin. I sighed and sat back against the wooden wagon seat and worked on loosening the bonds around my wrists. No such luck. I wiggled my fingers to cast a small flame spell. Only a small plume of smoke emitted from the palms in my hands. This. Was. Perfect. No strength to fight my way out of here. No magicka to cast a simple destruction spell. And where was my damn dog? Fang never leaves my side for this long.

After quite some time, we were carted into a small town. The dreary, stone encampment walls loomed over us as we passed through. The atmosphere felt heavy and dense with a gloomy fog blanketing the town. Ralof mentioned this town was Helgen.

I'd hate to live in a place like this.

Citizens whispered to one another staring, pointing at us. Some giggled. Others shook their heads in disgust. I heard "rebels" murmured a couple of times.

Once the horses came to a halt, Imperial guards surrounded the wagon and began shouting at us to dismount. One by one the men jumped down onto the muddy, gravel street. Dizziness and nausea still overwhelmed me as I tumbled off the wagon. The Breton caught my arm and saved me from face planting into the gravel below.

"Whoops-a-daisy, beautiful," he joked as he helped me regain my balance and steady my feet.

I jerked my arm out of his grasp. "Touch me again, and I'll cut off your hand."

"Ralof of Riverwood," an Imperial guard stated, sounding bored and obvious he'd rather be anywhere else.

Ralof stepped forward. The Imperial guard scribbled on the parchment with a charcoal pencil.

"You've been charged for your involvement with the Stormcloaks and in the rebellion against the Empire and the Imperial Legion," continued Hadvar. "For your crimes, you've been sentenced to death."

Imperial glanced up. "Wait a minute. You're Ulfric Stormcloak."

"He goes to the block, Hadvar," interrupted the female Imperial Captain as she walked up to the guard. "For your crimes against the Empire, nothing would please me more than to see your head roll."

Both Ralof and Ulfric were ushered off with a group of prisoners leaving myself along with the Breton and the thief behind.

"I don't deserve to be here!" shouted the thief. He took off in a dead sprint down the cobble streets. Before he got far, the Imperial archers shot him full of arrows, killing him instantly.

Hadvar faced me, arching an eyebrow, curious who I was.

"I'm not on your damn list," I spat.

"Send her and the Breton with the others to the block," the Captain said, waving her hand in dismissal. "They'll share the same fate as the others."

"Well, at least we'll die together," joked the Breton as a guard shoved us towards the other prisoners sentenced to death.

I rolled my eyes. I couldn't believe my two hundred and fifteen years of existence was ending because of this twerp. I couldn't go out like this. Mother would be disappointed. Gods, my father would be mortified if he knew his daughter, his own flesh and blood, was caught and killed by an inferior race like the Imperials. Even though Hircine wanted me dead, he still wouldn't wish an embarrassing death like a stupid beheading by Imperials to befall me. No sir indeed.

I tried once more to summon a fire spell, even a simple shock spell, but nothing but a minute sizzle and spark emitted from my fingertips. I groaned in frustration. I still felt ill from the poison. If I somehow got out of this, I would summon Hircine and tell him his Savior's Hide was complete crap. I'm sure he'd love to hear that.

The feeling of impending doom was tangible amongst the prisoners sentenced to death. All of us prisoners stood waiting for our fates to be delivered by the large man who was leaning against a massive, silver ax.

A prisoner was shoved to the block. The Imperial guard kicked his legs out from under him, dropping the prisoner to his knees. The guard then slammed the prisoner's head onto the beheading block, the executioner looming overhead with the ax ready in his hands.

"Today is a good day to die," said Ralof proudly as he gazed up at the sky. He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, savoring the little time he had left to live. "I am happy we will die for our cause. For our rebellion." He raised his voice, ensuring the surrounding guards heard him. "You Imperials can't take Skyrim from the Nords nor will you take Sovngarde from me."

I watched in awe as the executioner brought down the silver ax onto the neck of a prisoner. So clean. So...dead. The headless body slumped to the blood-stained ground.

A faint sound in the distance perked my interest, tearing my attention away from the severed body laying motionless in the wet gravel. What in Oblivion was that? It sounded like a lion roaring...but in the sky?

I glanced over at Ralof and Ulfric. They too must have heard the same sound since their gazes faced upward towards the heavens.

"You, the female Nord, you're next," the Captain snapped her fingers and pointed to the chopping block. The executioner rested the ax on his shoulder, eagerly waiting to lob off my head. I could tell he loved his job.

My eyes scanned the sky as two guards pushed me towards the block. I could hear the roaring coming closer. Whatever it was, it was big. And it was coming right towards Helgen.

* * *

><p>Pure chaos. That's the only way to describe the mayhem.<p>

A large booming crash caused massive stone blocks from the building before us to tumble to the ground. My eyes widened in awe at the sight of the largest beast I've ever seen. Before me, less than twenty feet away was a terrifying, onyx dragon, plated with thick scales and covered with jagged horns. It opened its maw and bellowed a earthshaking roar, announcing it's presence to everyone within Helgen's walls.

The legends were true. Dragons existed.

Citizens screamed as they scrambled to safety. Imperial archers drew back the strings to their bows and launched arrows at the massive beast. Guards and soldiers scurried to control the prisoners as they began to take cover from the falling tower stones.

"Run!" Ralof grabbed my arm and jerked me up to my feet then dragged me behind him with the Breton in tow. Ulfric was a few paces in front of us.

My instincts to survive, to preserve my life, kicked into overdrive. The hunt was on. Unfortunately I was the prey. The poison effects from the arrowheads quickly diminished as my will to live dominated my senses.

Plumes of scorching hot fire poured from the dragon's gaping mouth, igniting anything and everything on fire. Screams echoed through the town as it's citizens fled the infernos.

Adrenaline pumped through my veins as my group of escaping fugitives dodged Imperial guards and fiery obstacles. The dragon roared and flapped it's iridescent wings, fanning the fires, causing them to spread to other buildings and homes.

I focused energy in my palms, summoning a simple flame spell. Instantly a small fireball erupted in my palm, burning through the thick cord that bound my hands. Yes! I felt relieved. My magicka had returned.

"Ulfric," I yelled trying to grab his attention. He spun around to face me. I grabbed his wrists and burned the rope, freeing his hands. He gave me a nod in thanks as he rubbed his raw wrists. I turned to do the same to Ralof's bindings but the Breton was already burning through the cord with a small flame spell.

"Ulfric, you traitor, halt!" shouted Hadvar stepping in front of us. He unsheathed his sword, readied to strike. "I can't let you or the others escape."

"Quit being a fool, Imperial," shouted Ulfric. He stuck his arm out holding me back, protecting me from the Imperial's reach. "This isn't a time for heroism. We're getting out of here and you're not stopping us."

The Imperial turned to me. "If you want to live, woman, come with me."

The Breton shoved his way to the front of the pack. "I've had enough of this. Get out of our way, damnit!"

Hadvar raised his sword to attack, but the Breton was too quick for him. A shock spell sprang from his fingertips and slammed into the the guard's chest, causing him to fly backwards, the wind escaping his lungs as he impacted the ground.

"Let's go," shouted Ulfric.

The dragon continued to breathe fire, burning down homes, shops and buildings in Helgen. We had to get out of there quickly, but the beast blocked every possible passage of escape. The main gates were ablaze. Buildings and towers crumbled as the dragon smashed them with its powerful tail, blocking streets. The dragon leapt to the ground to snap up anyone within reach, devouring them whole. Cries rang throughout the hold as citizens desperately searched for an escape.

"In here," Ralof shouted as he opened a wooden door to the Imperial Keep. Ralof slammed the door shut and barricaded it once we were inside.

I quickly scanned the room, searching for a weapon. Leaning against two barrels rested a long bow. I grabbed the weapon, hastily ran my fingers over the wood looking for cracks and splinters. I pulled back the string to test the tautness and released, the strings bouncing back. Not the greatest craftsmanship, but it will work.

"Here," the Breton yelled as he tossed a quiver full of iron arrows towards me.

I caught the quiver and secured it to my back. "Would be better if they were the bone arrows you stole from me, Breton."

He gave me a sheepish grin as he sheathed an iron dagger in the holder on his tunic. Ulfric and Ralof found swords for themselves and were waiting for us at the end of a narrow hallway off the main room.

"We have to split up," said Ralof. "It will be harder for the dragon to catch us if we remain in smaller groups. Not to mention the damn Imperials are still out there, well, what's left of them anyways." Ralof chuckled.

I nodded in agreement. There's no doubt Imperial guards were not only out there attempting to fight the dragon, but they also wouldn't hesitate to kill the escaping prisoners.

Today was not my day to die.

"Ralof and I will go together," said Ulfric. "If you need anything, sister, come find me in Windhelm. I could use someone like you in my court and fight the Imperials as a sister Stormcloak." Ulfric held out his hand, my hand grasped his forearm and his grasped mine in a forearm shake.

"If you survive," joked Ralof. "My sister, Gerdur, lives in Riverwood. Ask for her as she'll make sure your stomachs are full and you have a place to rest. It was a pleasure to meet you, tigress," Ralof smacked me on the back. Hard.

"Yea, you too," I muttered.

With that, Ralof and Ulfric turned and ran out of the corridor into the next room and out of the shop. Faint screams and guttural roars could still be heard outside, which meant the dragon was still out there.

"Well it's just you and me, little lady," the Breton said, wiggling his eyebrows and a smirk across his lips. "After you." He bowed, extending his arm out.

I rolled my eyes in annoyance.

"Just don't get me killed, Breton," I scoffed as I walked past him and out of the corridor. "And stay out of my way or else you'll get an arrow in the back of your head."

"I have a name, you know," huffed the Breton as he followed me.

"Don't care," I waved my hand, dismissing him as I charged out of the building and onto the street outside. "Don't want to know."

Outside it was pure mayhem. Charred bodies littered the damp, cobble streets. Shop booths and wagon vendors were crackling and popping as fire consumed them. Buildings, towers as homes lay in rubble. People wailed in agony as their whole lives collapsed in front of them. The Imperial guards shouted commands to one another, firing arrows at the dragon perched on a crumbling guard tower. Helgen reeked of death.

I crept along the side of the building, scanning for a way out of Helgen. The Breton followed me, staying low to diminish his silhouette. I preferred him this way. Quiet. I couldn't wait to get out of here and lose the twerp. He had been nothing but trouble since he looted my camp. A constant pain in my ass.

I could hear the roars coming from the far opposite side of the hold. Now was our chance to escape while the dragon was occupied.

"I say we make a run for it. Look over there!" He pointed to an opening in the hold wall. It was large enough for us to pass through easily. If we could get to it, we would be free. Not just free from Helgen, but free from the pursuit of the Imperials. Freedom was all I could think about.

"Follow me," I said quietly.

I took off at a full sprint, leaping over dead bodies and remains from Imperial soldiers and Helgen's citizens. I couldn't believe the carnage. Images of the Danes massacre from over two hundred cycles ago flashed through my mind. I vividly remembered the contorted faces of the dead clan men, women and children, suffering and agony carved into their expressions.

So many dead. My heart tore at the sight of the innocent children, bloodied and burned from the dragon's fiery breath. The noxious smell of burnt flesh intertwined with sulfur choked my senses. My feet pounded harder on the gravel as the Breton and I raced towards the wall opening. Just a little further and we'd be free.

I heard it long before I saw it. The dragon had returned. It jumped from one guard tower to another until it was directly in front of us.

"Keep running!" I shouted. "Get to the opening." I skidded to a stop as the dragon clumsily jumped to a toppled tower, roaring with such ferocity.

Usually in fight or flight situation, I hold my ground and fight. I always come out the victor. But in this situation, I was being an idiot. My instincts screamed from the back of my mind, begging me to run, but my pride kept me grounded, urging me to fight back.

The dragon's gleaming, demon red eyes locked onto mine. I lost my breath. Such wonderful yet terrifying beauty rested in the soul of this beast. It was a god. A god of cataclysmic destruction but also a part of the cycle of life. How beautiful.

I swear I saw the beast smile. Arrogantly. It felt me. Just like I felt it. Our connection was strong and instantaneous like the dragon was the missing component to my incomplete soul.

With my left hand I cautiously reached behind me and grabbed the long bow secured to my back, never breaking eye contact with the beast. I reached with my opposite hand into the quiver and pulled out an iron arrow and notched it. The dragon continued to watch me, taunting me, challenging me to attack. Slowly I aimed the arrow tip right between the beast's eyes. The dragon grunted gutturally as I aimed the arrow at it. Did it just laugh at me?

"What in Oblivion are you doing, woman?" screeched the Breton. The twerp should have kept running.

I ignored him. Shut him out of my mind. All my concentration focused on the dragon.

Inhale...Exhale... Inhale... Ex...hale...

As I let my breath pass over my lips, I released the string from my fingers, sending the arrow sailing towards the dragon. Instantly I grabbed a second arrow, notched it and let it fly. The arrows simply bounced off the hard scales protecting the dragon's face. The simple iron arrows were unable to penetrate the thick armor.

I readied a third arrow, aiming carefully. If I could just strike...right...between...the eyes.

"Zu'u hin daan, Dovahkiin!" growled the beast.

I froze. Oh, Talos. It spoke. Not only did it speak, but I understood it. I understood every word, every syllable, even though it was in a foreign tongue. But I understood it.

_"I am your king, Dragonborn."_

How did I understand that? What's more, it called me Dragonborn. I've heard old Nordic legends of the heroes who possessed the Thu'um, the Voice. My mother used to tell me bedtime stories about men with unbelievable courage and strength who could harness the power of the dragons. But that's all they were to me, just stories.

I stood there mesmerized, enchanted, staring at the massive dragon. The beast opened it's giant jaws and inhaled deeply. Was it about to speak again?

"YOL TOOR SUHL!"

A massive, blazing ball of fire erupted from the dragon's mouth. I froze. I was paralyzed, Completely entranced with the dragon. I knew I was in danger, yet I didn't care. I welcomed the fire and heat with open arms. Such beauty.

Before I could blink, I was tackled to the ground, air escaping my lungs as a heavy body collided on top my own. I opened my eyes to witness the fire blast soar overhead. I'm pretty confident that massive inferno attack would have killed me. Easily.

"Dovahkiin, hin kah fen kos bonaar!" the dragon roared, leaping into the air and flapping it's jagged, gossamer wings. With a few pumps of it's wings, the dragon flew from the destroyed town of Helgen.

_"Dragonborn, your pride will be humbled."_ The words echoed in my mind.

The mass on top of my grumbled in pain. It was the Breton. He dove into the path of the fire to save me from being consumed by flames and burnt to a crisp. The Breton. The man who stole from me. The man who I hunted down into Skyrim. The man who I vowed to kill, saved me.

At that moment, I absolved him. He was forgiven.

I tried to wiggle out from under his body. He was a lot heavier than I expected.

"Get up," I ordered. That was a harsh thing to say to someone who just risked his life for a complete stranger. An incredibly, ungrateful stranger.

He lifted his head, his deep green eyes gazing into my own. Relief, confusion, then anger flickered across his face. After a few seconds he tore away and pushed himself up to his feet. He quickly scanned my body, checking for any obvious cuts, broken bones and wounds.

"You're one crazy skeever, you know that?" he scolded as he extended his hand to help me up. When I grasped his hand, I felt the strange tingle of a healing spell seep into me, curling through my limbs and curing all pain and bruises. The twerp was a mage.

"I'm fine," I mumbled as I wiped the mud out of my hair with my free hand. "No need to worry."

I tried to pull my hand away from his grasp but he held on tight. He took a step towards me, closing the distance between us and narrowed his eyes at me. He was pissed.

"No, what you did was not fine," the Breton insisted. "You are not fine. What you did was fetching stupid. You could have been killed by Arkay's sake!"

Annoyance surged through me. My hands balled into fists at my side. I didn't let my anger show. No point to let him know he got to me. No point to get emotional.

"Okay," I calmly said, a blank look on my face.

The Breton looked at me with anticipation, expecting me to continue talking, apologize, anything but respond with a simple "okay." I shrugged my shoulders indicating I had nothing left to say.

He threw up his hands, exasperated and turned to walk towards the opening in the damaged wall.

"A fetching dragon!" he exclaimed. "You tried to take on a fetching, fire breathing dragon."

I sighed and followed him out of Helgen and into the forests of Skyrim.

-0-

I have a beta reader so after he cleans everything up for me I'll repost the chapters. Thanks again for reading. Hope to hear your reviews because they will help keep me motivated. I start school again in January so I may be a little slow on the updates but new chapters will be posted as soon as possible.

_-Lady Luna83_


	5. Chapter 3: Conversations

Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to TES. Bethesda does.

Chapter 3: Conversations

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><p>I was happy to leave the dreary town of Helgen. Not only because we escaped a freaking dragon, but also escaped with our lives. I'm also pretty sure I won't have any trouble with the Imperial soldiers from Helgen finding me since most perished from the dragon attack. It was a win-win and win situation.<p>

The sun shone brightly overhead, warming me with its rays. Monarch butterflies flittered from flower to flower with their delicate wings. I stuck my hands out to graze over grass plants, the tips caressing my fingertips as we strolled through the fields.

Even after a solid day of resting, I felt exhausted. Everything happened so quickly in Helgen that I was still processing the events that took place. Nothing made sense to me. How did I understand the dragon? How on Nirn could the dragon claim I was a Dragonborn? I didn't possess the Thu'um, and I definitely did not inherit the Dragonborn legacy like Cyrodiil's Septim bloodline. There were too many questions and no one to turn to for answers. My mother was the only one who could help, and she was dead. My queries about my heritage will always remain unanswered. And I seriously doubt Hircine would have any knowledge about my human ancestors. I decided to let it go. There was no point to chase something I didn't even know I was searching for in the first place.

I should have just turned around and headed back to Cyrodiil.

My thoughts were interrupted by the Breton humming.

"Can you get even more annoying, Breton?" I asked flatly.

The twerp insisted he'd travel with me to Riverwood "for my protection." That was a laugh. We barely spoke to each other since escaping Helgen. Both too exhausted to carry on a somewhat coherent conversation. I enjoyed the peace and quiet, however I also enjoyed the Breton's silent company. I've wandered Tamriel alone with only Fang as my companion for far too long.

Speaking of Fang, where in Oblivion was he?

"Madden," replied the Breton.

"Excuse me?"

"My name is Madden."

"I like Breton better," I said waving my hand. "Or better yet, I'll just call you Bret. Simple. Easy."

"Bret, huh?"

"I don't want to know about you, and you don't want to know about me. It makes things less personal. Less messy."

"Oh I beg to differ," Bret smiled. "I do want to know about you."

"What?"

"You are incredibly interesting," he mused. "That Nord was right. You are a tigress. With your issues, I'm betting you have quite a few exciting stories. And when I say quite a few, I mean a lot."

I snorted. I have issues? Please. I considered these "issues" as a method for survival, not as conversation topics.

"I'm not the type of person to open up and spill my life story. So if that's what you're hoping to get out of me, you can forget it."

"Can you at least give me your name?" Bret asked.

That I could tell him.

"Brynhild."

A few seconds passed while he mulled over my name. "Ready for battle."

"What?"

"Your name. It means 'ready for battle.'"

I was impressed. Bret must have been an educated man.

"It does," I said plainly.

Bret smiled, pleased he succeeded in getting me to open up, even in something as insignificant as my name.

"Why did you try to fight the dragon? Why didn't you run?"

That I couldn't tell him. I shrugged my shoulders hoping Bret wouldn't press me further.

"It talked to you. I heard it. I didn't understand it, but I know it said something to you," he stated, pushing for answers.

"I didn't hear anything." Lie. "Like I would really be able to understand a dragon." Another lie.

"It just doesn't make sense. I know what I saw and heard."

Thankfully the conversation stopped there.

We continued to walk in silence. I could tell Bret was dying to ask me more questions, wanting to prod me for information about who I was. I enjoyed being mysterious, an outsider. Most people were afraid of me because I was different or avoided me all together. Bret didn't seem to care. However, my vibe practically shouted, "no talking and no questions." How could he, let alone anyone else, possibly comprehend or even understand me? Hi, I'm a 215 year old half Daedra loner who doesn't age, witnessed the slaughter of my mother and clan, has a chip on my shoulder because I have 'daddy issues,' doesn't trust anyone and can talk to dragons. Nice to meet you. Yea, Bret would never run out of questions.

After some time, I could see Bret was suffering from extreme boredom. He kept kicking the same rock down the dirt path to occupy himself. I needed something to kill time and get my mind off of this dragon business.

"So you're a mage."

My remark surprised Bret. Not because of what I said, but because I was talking, initiating in conversation.

"Yes, I am."

I glanced over at him, waiting for a more detailed answer. Bret continued to walk as if I never spoke.

"And?"

"And what?" Bret asked.

"Well what's your specialty? How long have you been studying? Where have you studied?"

A shit-eating grin spread across Bret's lips. "I thought you didn't want to know anything about me. Less messy."

"Just trying to engage in conversation... like civilized people," I huffed.

Bret smacked me on the back. "Why do you want to know? You developing feelings for me, Bryn? Feelings of lo-ove?" Bret emphasized love in a sing-song way.

I covered my face with my hands. "Oh for Talos sake, Bret!" I shouted. "N-O. There is no way I'd have feelings for you. Can't you be serious?"

"It's Madden, and of course I can be serious." Bret replied. "You should learn to lighten up. It wouldn't kill you to smile."

"I can lighten up, Bret. But right now, with everything I've gone through over the past two days, lightening up and cracking jokes is the last thing on my mind."

"It's the perfect time!"

"Maybe once I get a couple of beers in me I'll spill all my secrets," I joked, giving a half smile.

"Really?" Bret's eyes widened in anticipation.

"No!"

* * *

><p>We past a post marker indicating Riverwood was just down the slope and in the valley basin. I could see the quiet town laying in the shadows of the mountains down below. I was looking forward to a hot meal and a decent bath. I've lived in the forests and on the road for most of my life and I've learned to appreciate the finer things like a home cooked meal that didn't comprise of hunting, gutting and cleaning my own kill or a soft bed rather than a tattered bedroll on the hard ground.<p>

I used to have a house. Hard to believe, I know. It was so long ago, the memories so distant they felt like remnants of a forgotten dream. Our house sat on top of a hill in the Gold Coast near Anvil overlooking the endless blue Abecean Sea. I miss those days. I miss him most of all, especially his smile.

"Bryn," Bret interrupted my daydream. "We're approaching Riverwood."

I blinked back a silent tear, certain Bret didn't see my slip in my stone cold facade. Even if he did, he didn't say anything, much to my relief.

Riverwood was nice. It was a medium-sized logging town I could see myself living in. Quiet. Distant, yet close to a main hold. The beautiful White River ran next to town. Multiple escape routes at the first sign of danger. The people seemed nice and friendly and wouldn't ask too many questions.

"I'm starving," said Bret, rubbing his belly. "Let's get something to eat before we search for Gerdur."

My belly grumbled in agreement. I grabbed my coin purse attached to my belt and jiggled the contents. The sound of coins clanged together. My purse was still heavy and full from the last mercenary contract I completed before I crossed the Skyrim border. That felt like a lifetime ago already.

We entered the Sleeping Giant Inn and were welcomed with the aroma of roasted meats and stewed vegetables. The wonderful heat from the crackling fire in the hearth created an inviting ambiance. We sat ourselves at a table out of the way, happy to sit down comfortably. I scanned the room and took note of the individuals in the room. A bard strummed the lute and sang "Ragnar the Red" while a drunken man danced, if you could call it dancing, along to the tune. A group of men sat at a table in the far opposite corner of the room, laughing heartily and conversing. The bartender remained behind the bar, occupying himself with cleaning mugs. I also took note of the nearest exits. Just in case. I'm not paranoid. I just like to have an exit strategy at all times.

"Can't you ever relax, Bryn?"

I looked over at Bret and scowled. The twerp was always smiling. It annoyed me to no end. No one in their right mind can be that happy all the time and be sane.

A barmaid approached us with two mugs of mead and set them down in front of us.

"Anything I can get you to eat?" she asked.

"Two bowls of stew if it's on the menu," replied Bret. She nodded and walked back to the kitchen. My mouth watered at the thought of a hearty meal. I took a large gulp of my mead. Ah, the taste was fantastic! I sighed in content and put the mug down. My eyes wandered to the rambunctious men at the corner table.

"I studied Destruction and Conjuration," Bret said, tearing my attention away from the men.

"Huh?"

"You asked me what my specialties were as a mage. I also practice Conjuration and I've dabbled in Restoration. I've been studying for sixteen cycles, ever since I was twelve. My mother comes from a long line of mages from High Rock. She taught me almost everything I know about magicka and alchemy."

The barmaid returned with two steaming bowls of rabbit strew. I quickly dove into the bowl with my spoon and devoured the tasty morsels of meat, vegetables and broth. It was absolutely delicious. So much better than the dried meats and berries I've grown accustomed to living out in the forests. This was absolute heaven.

"What were you doing in Cyrodiil?" I asked with a mouth full of stew.

Bret's smile faded, his cheerful, bright aura dimmed. The lines under his eyes indicated he's experienced quite a few hard times. The stubble along his jawline and chin made him appear much older than he really was. His shaggy brown hair fell over his soulful green eyes, concealing the hurt he felt. He held onto his mead mug and gently tapped the sides of the pewter with his fingers.

"I lived just outside of Cheydinhal for about five years," Bret took large gulp of mead before continuing. "With my wife and daughter."

I sucked in a breath. Boy, did I open up a can of worms.

He took another drink and motioned to the barmaid to bring over two more drinks.

"My wife, Gwen," Bret tried hard not to let his voice crack as he spoke about his wife. "She was an Imperial mage from Leyawiin. So beautiful." He traced the wood grain on the table with his finger. "I was out searching for potion ingredients and Gwen stayed behind with our daughter, Anna. While I was away, bandits broke into our house and killed them both. They didn't take anything, they just walked in and killed them for the sake of killing." Bret slammed his fist onto the table, rattling our drinks and bowls of stew. "The fetching bastards."

The barmaid returned with two more mugs full of mead. Bret downed the rest of his drink and slammed the empty mug on the table. He quickly reached for a full one and started guzzling that one while I sat in uncomfortable silence. I don't do well in "bare-all testimonies" like this. I'm not the type who talks about feelings.

"They even set our small stable on fire, killing one of our horses. When I returned, Imperial guards waited for me at the house. They tried to charge me for the murders of my own wife and daughter. They wouldn't let me plead my case. The guards wanted to arrest me and ask questions later. So I fled."

"Is that why you were heading to Skyrim?"

Bret nodded.

After a minute I asked the question I knew Bret had been waiting for me to ask for the past day.

"Why did you ransack my camp?"

Guilt washed over him.

"I was looking for items I could sell. I needed the money to get to the College of Winterhold. I don't have anywhere else to go and thought the College would take me in as a student. Your bone arrows would have fetched a good price. Did you carve them yourself?"

I chugged the rest of my mead and slammed the mug on the table. "Yes, I did carve them myself. And you're lucky I didn't kill you, Bret! You're the first and only person to steal from me and live to tell about it."

Bret held up his hands, submissively showing me he meant no harm. "Bryn, I know. I am truly sorry for that. Can we not just get over it and move on? Start anew?"

I dragged my hand down my face. Ugh, I hate being a softie at heart. I may act like a hardass ninety nine percent of the time, but that small one percent...will be my downfall. I miraculously managed to pick up the pieces after witnessing the murder of my mother. About sixty cycles later, I found Aron. He healed me, made me whole. Then lost him a few years later. I never picked up the pieces after his loss. I couldn't. I just built up a wall around me, around my heart, and no one had been able to break it down to get to me. I plan to keep it that way.

"Fine," I muttered. "We'll start fresh. Speaking of fresh, I need a bath."

I called over the barmaid and inquired about renting a room with a tub. She told me she would have a hot bath ready for me in ten minutes.

Bret and I stared down at the table in silence for what seemed like an eternity. I inhaled deeply. Damn this. Damn this all to Oblivion. I was developing a soft spot for Bret. Losing his wife and daughter so violently and then being blamed for their deaths. I understood what he was going through. Losing the ones you love, the ones who were your whole life and having to start over alone is something I don't wish on anyone.

"Bret," I broke the silence. Bret looked up at me, his eyes full of sorrow and regret. He reminded me of a baby fawn: so innocent and pure. Bret had a good heart even though he could be a pain in the ass. "I'll help you get to Winterhold. It's the least I can do. After all, you saved my life back in Helgen."

Bret's eyes widened. "Really? You'd do that for me?"

"Yes," I answered. "But then we're even. The debt between us settled."

"Yes...yes of course," Bret stammered, still coping from shock.

The debt was already settled when I forgave him for stealing my arrows since he risked his own life to save mine. He even trusted me enough to disclose the deaths of his family and why he fled to Skyrim. I couldn't just leave him. My conscious wouldn't allow it. So I decided to throw him a bone and help him out.

The barmaid approached to inform me my bath was ready. I stood up, fumbled in my coin purse for a couple of gold pieces and tossed them on the table.

"Here's for the drinks and stew," I said. "And some extra coin for a room and a bath. I think it would be safer to stay here rather than search for Gerdur. We don't want to attract too much attention to ourselves."

I started to walk away.

"Oh, and Bret," I continued. "I'm sorry to hear about your family."

Bret nodded in thanks with a slight smile and returned to his drink and stew.

I locked myself into my rented room and prepared for my bath.

-0-

Hope you all had a wonderful holiday season. With school starting back up, it may take me longer for updates. I write all my chapters on my iPhone (gotta love technology) so at least I'll always have some way to write.

Reviews appreciated! Thank you!

-_Lady Luna83_


	6. Chapter 4: Commitments

Hey everyone. Thanks for following along with this story. It will get better...promise. More action is coming up and Brynhild will soon reveal what she is. :D

Thanks for the reviews. They really help and motivate me. My writing is a little rusty since I usually write magazine articles with a more journalism style of writing.

Feel free to PM me for advice, suggestions, or ideas. Thanks again everyone!

_-Lady Luna83_

* * *

><p>Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to TES. Bethesda does.<p>

Chapter 4: Commitments

After I bathed and changed into clean clothes, I opened the door of my room to a noisy tavern. The table with the group of males had grown to an inn full of rowdy, obnoxious drunks.

I spotted Bret laughing with a group of Nords in the center of the room, a mug in each hand. I liked him better this way: smiling, happy. Much better than earlier this afternoon: somber and sorrowful. He acted like nothing had happened, so carefree and happy-go-lucky. I smiled at the sight.

A majority of the men all wore the same blue and silver armored uniform. I realized it was the same armor Ralof and Ulfric wore in Helgen. Stormcloak soldiers if I remembered correctly.

Butterflies danced in my stomach as I made my way towards Bret.

Butterflies? Bret? That's odd...

"Tigress!" shouted a burley man as he grabbed me from behind, wrapping his large, muscled arms around me and lifted me up in the air. "It's good to see you!"

I went into attack mode and threw my head back, connecting with the man's nose. I heard a crunch as the cartilage shattered from the impact. The man grunted. He let me go and I jumped out of his reach, spun around and readied myself to punch his lights out.

I had just broken Ralof's nose.

"Ralof!" I gasped. "I am so sorry. I didn't know it was you."

"Wow," he said nasally as he held his broken nose, blood gushing out of the nostrils and down his chin. "That was an impressive hit, Tigress."

My cheeks burned, flushing bright red. How embarrassing. What did he expect when you grab an unaware female Nord from behind? A broken nose, that's what. Still, I had to do some damage control.

"Hey Bret," I called. "Help me out here, will you?"

Bret stumbled over to Ralof and I. It's amazing how he could still walk. He looked like he was three sheets to the wind.

Bret placed a hand over Ralof's nose and concentrated on a healing spell. After a few seconds, red light pulsed from his hand, mending the damaged cartilage and broken capillaries.

"There ya go!" stuttered Bret happily. "Good as new!"

Ralof wiggled his nose with a hand, testing Bret's spell work. "I'll keep in mind you don't like surprises, Tigress," Ralof joked.

"Again, I'm really sorry..." I couldn't stop apologizing.

Ralof held up his hand, gesturing me to stop talking. "No harm done. It's actually quite attractive for a pretty little female such as yourself to be able to defend herself if the situation arises."

I fetching hate it when men call me little. I don't mind the pretty part though. I'm okay with a little ego booster.

"Well if you ever need someone to protect you if the situation arises, I'm your pretty "little" female," I teased.

Ralof bellowed, his deep laughter booming in my ears.

He casually rested his forearms over my shoulders and leaned over slightly. His eyes were at the same level as mine. "Tigress, that's exactly what I want to talk to you about."

"Pardon?"

Ralof wrapped an arm around my shoulder and ushered me toward the group of Stormcloak men with Bret right there in the middle.

"First, a drink! Get this little lady a drink!" he ordered the bartender. "We need to celebrate!"

There's that damn little part again.

"Here! Here!" shouted the Stormcloaks in unison as they held up their mugs.

Ralof led me to a small table near the back of the inn for privacy. The barmaid set two mugs in front of us. I quickly grabbed a mug, eager to down its contents.

"To us for escaping the damn Imperials and surviving the dragon in Helgen." Ralof held his mug up. "To the freedom and glory of Skyrim."

"Here, here," I said and clanged my mug against his before I took a swig. I coughed after swallowing the liquid.

"Wow, are you trying to poison me, Ralof?" I choked, wiping my mouth on the back of my hide gauntlet. "What is this?"

"Honningbrew mead," Ralof answered, laughing heartily. "Aye, strong stuff. It will put some hair on your chest."

I gave a slight smile after taking another drink, this time a sip. I tried very hard not to scrunch up my face in disgust. The drink was horrible.

"Why are you in Riverwood?" I asked. "I figured you would be in Windhelm with Jarl Ulfric."

"Actually, I came here for you," Ralof stated, smiling. "After feeling Helgen we reached a Stormcloak camp to rest. The Jarl requested me and a few soldiers to find you. Make sure you made it out of Helgen alive. Thank the Nine you did!" Ralof laughed and pounded his fist on the table joyously. "I figured you would come to Riverwood to meet with my sister. Ulfric wishes you to join the Stormcloaks, to help us fight in the rebellion against the Imperials and those who oppose his rightful place as High King. It seems he's taken quite an interest in you."

I'll admit I wouldn't mind killing those Imperials for the headache they've caused me. And also the attempt to take off my head, but I don't want to be sucked into Skyrim's troubles. That would be breaking the Golden Rule of not getting involved in other people's problems. It seems like I've been breaking that rule lately. Damnit.

"The war is not my fight," I stated.

"You should make it your problem. You're a Nord even though you don't look like any Nord I've ever seen."

I stuck like a sore thumb. My dark chocolate brown hair and lean, muscled build aren't what throw people off. It's my golden eyes and bronzed skin. And the three inch scar running from the bottom of my right eye to the middle of my cheek. I thank Hircine for that. I've always embraced my exoticness, but it doesn't work when you're trying to blend in and not draw attention to yourself amongst the typical fair-haired and pale skinned Nords.

I'm also paranoid about getting injured. A cut or gash would prove I'm not entirely human. My silvery crimson blood is a dead giveaway I'm Daedra. And Daedra are not lovingly welcomed with open arms in Skyrim. I could have been done for by the Imperials when they caught me. I _should_ have been done for. I bled enough from those arrow wounds to expose what I was, but the Legion was too focused on catching myself and my other wagon mates to pay attention so something so simple like the color of my blood. Thank gods it dried to a human blood color by the time I was carelessly tossed into the wagon. But still...I was lucky. Too lucky actually.

"I will not be involved in a rebellion of Nords against Nords," I insisted.

Ralof narrowed his ice blue eyes at me. I've seen that look before. Many times. He's trying to figure me out.

"What part of Skyrim do you hail from, anyways?"

Crap. He went there. He wants details. Background information. The chances of laying low are diminishing by the minute.

Bret stumbled to the table with that same shit-eating grin.

The butterflies returned. I've never been so happy to see that twerp.

"Bryn!" Bret stammered. "Didja hear there was a dragon spotted right outside of town?

"The same dragon from Helgen?" I asked, extremely relieved for the change in conversation.

"Nay, it's a different dragon," interrupted Ralof. "Saw it with my own eyes just outside of town circling the area. Bad news if you ask me. Definitely a bad omen of things to come."

Oh gods, another dragon? I barely survived my last encounter with one of those oversized, flying reptiles.

"Bryn, let me get you another drink. They have this amazing Honningbrew mead!"

Yuck.

I smiled but declined. I do enjoy a strong drink, but that Honningbrew was pure rubbing alcohol. Put hair on your chest indeed.

"So you're Bryn?" Ralof asked as he sat back in his chair, eyeing me up and down. He's doing it again.

"Brynhild," I corrected.

I could tell he was curious about me. Fortunately he didn't ask any more personal questions.

Ralof continued to tell me about the necessity of the Stormcloaks. I listened with semi interest about how the Aldmeri Dominion invaded Cyrodiil and forced Emperor Titus Mede II to sign the White Gold Concordat, resulting in the ban of Talos worship across Tamriel.

I remember that day clearly. I was living in Anvil at the time of the signing at the Imperial Palace. The Aldmeri believed Talos wasn't a god because he was a mortal man, therefore should not be worshipped as one of the Divines. I couldn't believe signing a simple piece of parchment could end the worship of the mortal hero-turned-god.

Stupid Altmers thinking they're all high and mighty with their self-proclaimed "superior" race.

Superior race my ass.

But I wasn't aware how many Nords in Skyrim revolted, claiming no document, government or organization could forbid their worship of their beloved god. The Stormcloaks, led by Ulfric, declared war against the Imperials, who enforced the White Gold Concordat and also wanted Skyrim to join the Empire. Other Nords, including the former High King Torygg, preferred Skyrim as part of the Empire, claiming it was safer for the citizens if Skyrim joined the Empire.

"So that's why Ulfric killed the High King," I mused, finally understanding more in detail why Skyrim was in a state of chaos.

"Aye," replied Ralof. "Torygg supported Skyrim in joining Empire, thus honoring the White Gold Concordat."

I've tried to isolate myself from politics as much as possible. However, I believe no one has the godsdamn-given right to declare who and who not to worship in Tamriel.

Also, I think it's pure skeever crap if the Empire thinks it has the right to rule over Skyrim. Skyrim should remain an independent sovereign country outside of the Empire's rule. But what do I know? I haven't claimed Skyrim home for two hundred and seven years.

Am I claiming Skyrim home now?

Ugh...maybe.

For some strange reason, I feel like I'm being summoned here. Called home. Cyrodiil is currently in a state of disarray and had been since the Aldmeri Dominion take over. Fetching Altmers. I don't care to reside in Elsweyr, Morrowind or any other country either. There seemed to be some disaster occurring in each of the nations. Tamriel was falling apart.

I'll see where this ride takes me. I'm always game for a good adventure. Perhaps Skyrim will allow me to move on from the past I've desperately been running from.

I'm tired of wandering. I want a home. A place to start over. But I want a home free from the Empire and free to worship all Nine Divines. I'd gladly fight for that freedom.

"How did Ulfric kill Torygg?"

"With a sword," answered Ralof simply, then took a sip from his mug.

I knew there was more to it than a sword, but I decided not to push Ralof for more information.

We sat for several minutes in silence, each of us trying to figure out what the other was thinking.

At that moment I decided to stay. I won't return to Cyrodiil. I'm committed to Skyrim. No turning back now.

I sighed heavily.

"Ralof," I breathed.

Ralof leaned forward, listening intently and eager with what I had to say.

"I will aid Ulfric and the Stormcloaks against the Empire."

Ralof raised his eye brows, a faint smile on his lips.

"So you'll join?" he asked, hopeful.

"Yes, I'll join."

-0-

Short chapter this time. I am almost done with the next one. It picks up after that. Next chapter will be posted tomorrow. Be on the look out for it!


	7. Chapter 5: Return to Helgen

Alright, another chapter! Thanks for all the great reviews. I really appreciate it.

Enjoy! :D

Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to TES. Bethesda does.

Chapter 5: Return to Helgen

* * *

><p>After I slipped into a nightgown provided by the innkeeper, I slid under the covers of the straw-filled bed. I let out a content moan as I lay my head on a feather pillow. I couldn't remember the last time I felt this comfortable. I was in bliss.<p>

Earlier I had to escort Bret back to his room. The poor goat had passed out on a bar table. A group of Stormcloaks talked him into playing a few hands of cards as a drinking game. Bret was sloshed after three hands of Go Slaughterfish. I had to knock around a few Stormcloaks for drawing on Bret's face with charcoal pencils after he passed out. Hopefully now he'll learn to control his liquor. Or stay away from that Honningbrew mead.

My mind raced. I couldn't believe how so many things could occur in the span of two days: the dragon in Helgen, a dragon sighting in Riverwood and Ulfric seeking my assistance in the rebellion against the Empire. Right now Bret was the only individual who I considered a friend, and even he depended on me to help him get to Winterhold.

I covered my face with my hands. Ugh, gods. I missed my simple life as a mercenary. Get a contract from a mysterious individual. Kill someone. Return to the mysterious individual. Get paid. Repeat. No questions. Easy peasy.

Now my world had been altered, and I'm forced to adapt. But that's what hunters do and what we do well: adapt.

What the fetch was wrong with me? Why couldn't in just stay out of everyone's business? Why am I suddenly getting sucked into everything? What makes me so damn special?

No more questions. Stop thinking now.

I closed my exhausted eyes and focused on shutting down my brain. Stopped thinking about the dragon from Helgen, about the new dragon, Bret and his family, about the possibility of new life in Skyrim.

About my mother.

_Stop thinking, Brynhild._

I missed her.

_Stop!_

I missed him too...

I drifted off to sleep, thinking about what used to be and what could have been.

And what will never be.

* * *

><p>Helgen. Brynhild was back in bloody Helgen. This couldn't be real.<p>

Smoke rose from the charred remains of homes, shops and corpses. So many corpses. Those images will forever be burned into her mind, like the scorched, ashen covered remains of Helgen.

She looked around trying to find some sign of life. Something. Anything. Nothing stirred. The only sound was the haunting whistling of a slight breeze blowing through the remains of the hold.

It was dark. Too dark. The sky blacker than night. The moons, Massar and Secunda, and the stars were absent in the aphotic sky. Brynhild felt the darkness closing in and surrounding her. The shadows became larger, more terrifying, trapping her in the nightmarish world. A light fog blanketed the ghost town, creating an eerie, unnatural ambiance.

Her heart rate quickened, her breath irratic. Terror began to creep up her spine as she tiptoed silently through the empty streets.

"Hello?" she called out. The sound of her voice echoed through the town.

Something moved out in the distance. Brynhild swore she saw a shadow jump from one side of the street to the other.

What was that? It was much too large for a man.

Laughter rang through the streets. Fear and trepidation enveloped Brynhild. She felt an evil presence, yet something about it was familiar. She spun around. She knew she was being watched, yet she couldn't see details as the fog grew denser and obscured her vision.

Another guttural, deep laugh.

Brynhild's eyes widened in terror. "What do you want?" she cried, panic thick in her voice.

"You, Dragonborn," a hypnotic, deep voice whispered from behind. A chilling breeze caressed Brynhild's cheek.

Brynhild reached for her dagger, surprised to find it in it's sheath, and whirled around ready to attack the unknown entity. No one was there.

"Show yourself, coward!" she screamed.

More laughter.

Byrnhild began to pant. Her eyes scanned her surroundings. She was absolutely terrified. She grabbed her Talos amulet around her neck seeking some sort of comfort.

"Talos, save me," she whispered.

A violent gust of wind blew, knocking her backwards and sent her skidding across the street.

"THE FALSE GOD WILL NOT SAVE YOU!" the voice roared angrily. "YOU WILL BOW TO ME, DRAGONBORN, FOR I AM YOUR GOD!

Brynhild slammed her head hard on the cobbled streets. Stars winked in front of her eyes and fought back tears of pain as she struggled to sit up.

"Get up!" the voice bellowed. "Get up and accept your fate, Dragonborn."

It took all her strength to push herself up to her feet. She stood out in the open feeling vulnerable and weak. There was nowhere to run. She was trapped.

The menacing laughter returned.

I'm going to die, thought Brynhild.

In the distance, a massive shadow descended from the starless sky and swooped towards the terrified Byrnhild. Faster and faster it approached until she could see it's demon red eyes. Brynhild didn't have a chance to throw up a ward spell. She didn't have a chance to scream. The menacing shadow opened it's jaws. It was too late.

"YOL!"

The fire engulfed Brynhild, burning her alive.

"Hin sil los dill..."

_..."Your soul is mine."_

* * *

><p>I shot up in my bed. I was choking. Gasping. Hyperventilating.<p>

Dying.

My skin...it burned! I actually felt the dragon's fiery breath searing my flesh. Looking down I saw my arms were blotchy and warm to the touch.

Thank the Nine it was a dream. It sure felt real.

I looked over at the window and noticed it was still dark outside. In a few hours dawn would greet the new day.

I tossed the covers off and walked to the small, worn dresser with the vanity mirror and water basin. I splashed water on my sweaty face. The cool water didn't soothe my burning skin. I looked up into the mirror, my mouth dropped open.

Oh my gods. My eyes...they..._glowed_. Not glowed like a shimmer. But actually glowed in the dark.

I leaned closer to the mirror to inspect my freakish eyes; large, illuminated, golden orbs staring back at me. Amazing. They reminded me of Hircine's own eyes. Otherworldly and deadly. Beautiful.

My eyes have never shone like that. I looked like a true hunter of the Hunting Grounds.

As much as I hated Hircine, I have always embraced my Daedric qualities, especially my gold eyes. Radiating in mysterious power. Raw power. And strength.

I grinned, my reflection smiling back at me.

Skyrim was in for one fetching surprise. Me.

-0-

Short chapter, I know. But I hope you all liked it. Working on another one then school starts back up...blah. Anyways, thanks for reading!

_-Lady Luna83_


	8. Chapter 6: Into Bleak Falls Barrow

Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to TES. Bethesda does.

Chapter 6: Into Bleak Falls Barrow

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><p>"Did something happen last night? You look different."<p>

I didn't bother to glance over at Bret. My eyes had dimmed significantly by morning but still had a slight incandescent shine. I had hoped he wouldn't see the glow.

"No," I answered simply. "Why do you ask?"

Bret shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know really. You seem...more radiant than usual. It's strange."

Curious, Bret waved his hand near me, his fingers outstretched as if he were caressing the air around me.

"Your aura is different," he frowned, looking concerned. "Much different than yesterday. Brighter. Stronger. You've changed."

Trekking through the rugged terrain, I felt stronger and more attuned to my senses. I didn't feel as human. Perhaps the dream awakened a Daedric side of me long hidden, waiting to awaken. However, for the time being, I still needed to keep my identity and what I truly was a secret.

"Hmmm, that is strange," I said, trying to keep a straight face, but I couldn't hide a faint, amused smile. I had changed.

We were traveling by foot to Bleak Falls Barrow. Lucan Valerius, the shopkeeper of Riverwood Trader, asked us to retrieve a family treasure, a golden dragon claw. He claimed the heirloom was stolen from his store by bandits, who took refuge in the barrow near Riverwood. I wasn't too thrilled about accepting the job, but we needed the gold. I purchased a hunting bow for a good price from Lucien before departing, since my mother's elven bow was taken by the Imperial soldiers in Helgen. However, the Imperials failed to find the Daedric dagger I hid in my Savior's Hide. A quiver of iron arrows, a new robe specializing in destruction magicka for Bret, some other odds and ends including a map of Skyrim, and we were ready.

I could hear Bret panting behind me as we hiked up the mountain slope leading to Bleak Falls Barrow.

"Don't get out much, do you?" I teased.

"Oh shut up," he breathed heavily. "I wouldn't consider myself an outdoorsman. I enjoy my cushy profession as a mage."

Cushy profession indeed. Hiking was second nature to me. I lived for the outdoors. I was connected to the land, to the animals, everything of nature.

Over the past two hundred years, I've honed my hunting skills, becoming an effective killer. My mother taught me the basics: how to create my own bow and carve my own arrows. How to kill with the simplest of blades. I've learned how to stalk prey without being detected, to remain hidden in the shadows. The gold I've earned from mercenary contracts was proof I was damn good at what I did. I've never had a dissatisfied customer. I lived for the hunt. It ran through my veins. Part of my very core, my soul. The hunt was who I was.

I heard a twig snap in the far distance.

"Did you hear that?" I asked, stopping dead in my tracks and unsheathed my Daedric dagger.

"Hear what?" replied Bret looking around. "I didn't hear anything."

I inhaled deeply through my nose, processing the various scents lingering in the air. Since last night my hunting instincts had kicked into overdrive. The clarity of my sense of smell, hearing and vision had improved ten fold. I haven't felt this strong in decades.

I smelled...wet dog.

No more than a few seconds later, a massive, white wolf hurled itself out of the dense brush, galloping towards us. Bret readied a shock spell, the lighting cracking from his fingertips.

"Bret! No!" I shouted, grabbing his wrist and aiming the charging spell away from the approaching beast.

Bret dismissed the spell as I ran towards the wolf.

"There you are, you wretched mutt!" I scolded. "Where the fetch have you been?"

I dove to the ground and threw my arms around Fang. Fang immediately began licking my face and nuzzling me. I giggled as he playfully rolled over on his back, kicking his legs up in the air while I scratched his belly.

"I thought you were gone for good."

"What in the name of Arkay is that?" Bret gasped, taking a few steps backwards.

"He's a wolf," I stated flatly. "Duh."

"_That_ is no wolf. _That_ is a monster."

A low guttural growl emitted from Fangs's throat, his ears pulled back and sharp teeth bared.

I continued to scratch Fang's belly, looking up at Bret with a smile. "See, he likes you."

"He's growling and looks like he wants to tear me to pieces. How do you know he likes me?"

"If he didn't, you'd be dead," I stated as-a-matter-of-factly.

We continued heading northeast through a small mountain pass. A light dusting of snow began to fall from the dark, grey clouds overhead. Before long, the light snowfall transformed into a wintery storm. The strong gusts of wind blew the snow powder and flakes into our faces, obscuring our vision. I pulled my hair back into a tail to keep it from whipping me in the face. Bret tightened his robe and hid his face under the cowl to protect himself from the cold. Believe it or not, my Savior's Hide, as tattered and worn as it was, kept me warm in cold, chilly climates. As a Nord, I thrived in conditions like this.

We pressed on in silence until we caught sight of a large, arched stairway.

"Wait," I whispered near his ear, holding my arm out preventing Bret from traveling further.

I could smell the bandits. Two of them patrolled the entryway into the barrow. Fang began to growl, his hackles stood on end.

Even in the snowy conditions, I could pick up the slight gleam from the bandits' studded armor as they patrolled the barrow's perimeter.

This will be fun.

"Cover me but don't get to close," I whispered to Bret. "Fang, stay."

I took off in a sprint, using the boulders as cover as I made my way closer to the stairs leading to the barrow. I moved silently, the wind concealed the crunching of snow under my boots. The whirling, wind-blown snow distorted the bandits' vision. They had no idea their deaths were coming.

One of the bandits had his back turned to me. I crept up the steps with my dagger at the ready. The bandit turned around in time to see me lunge at him, my right arm outstretched with the blade in hand. His eyes widened in surprise as the sharp end of my dagger easily cut through the flesh of his throat, severing the arteries and trachea. He gurgled, blood spilling from the gash and mouth and he dropped to the stone ground.

An arrow whizzed by me. I looked to my right to see the other bandit at the top of the second flight of stairs reaching for another arrow. I sheathed my dagger with my right hand while simultaneously grabbing my hunting bow with my left. I notched an iron arrow, released and struck the bandit through the heart before he was able to release his second arrow. Both bandits were dead in a matter of seconds.

Bret and Fang were at the top of the stairs a few moments later.

"I've never seen anyone move that quickly," said Bret. "That was incredible. Who taught you how to fight like that?"

"My mother," I said flatly and secured my bow to my back. "Let's get inside and find Lucan's family heirloom."

* * *

><p>Two more bandits were inside the first room of the barrow. The first one went down like a sack of potatoes from an arrow to the skull. Fang tackled the second bandit and latched on to her leg while she tried to escape. I kicked the dagger out of her hand before she could stab Fang with it. She lay on her back, breathing erratically, eyes wide in terror.<p>

I crouched down before her, grabbed her by the front of her leather armor and yanked her up to eye level. She winced in pain as Fang bit down harder on her leg, reminding her to not try anything foolish.

"Where's the golden claw?" I asked calmly.

"I...I dunno," she stammered. Her breathing quickened. "I never saw it."

I glanced down at Fang. He picked up my nonverbal cue and bit down harder. The bandit screamed in agony as Fang crushed bone with his powerful jaws.

"Alright!" she screamed. "That blasted Dunmer, Arvel, has it! He's further in the barrow. Please, just let me go!"

"With pleasure."

I grabbed my Daedric dagger and forcefully drove it deep into her chest and twisted the hilt, tearing apart her beating heart and surrounding muscles. The bandit gasped her final breath before slumping to the ground.

I yanked the dagger out and casually wiped the blood off onto my Savior's Hide before sheathing it in its holder on my belt. I glanced back to see Bret standing a few feet behind me. My golden eyes locked onto Bret's shocked emerald eyes. His mouth hung open in horror. I tried not to let his expression bother me. Sometimes I forget people aren't used to my tactics of extracting information let alone I rarely let anyone go no matter how much they beg for it.

I stood up, my back facing Bret.

"You think I'm a monster, don't you?" I asked softly. I couldn't muster the strength to face him again.

The longest seconds of my life passed before I heard Bret's voice.

"No, I don't," he spoke just as soft.

Truth. I heard the truth in his voice. I didn't know what to think. I didn't know how to act around Bret, nor anyone for that matter. I preferred living in solitude, alone. I'm not used to the company of other people for extended periods of time like this. And when I mean extended periods of time, I mean the span of a couple of hours. A day at the most.

"You don't have to go any further with me," I said coldly. "It would be safer if you turned back."

A hand gently grabbed onto my shoulder and gave a slight squeeze. I almost shoved the hand away out of reaction. I had a big personal bubble and I don't like others invading my space.

"I'm not going anywhere," said Bret. "Let's find Arvel."

-0-

Thanks for reading! Next chapter should be up soon. :)

_-LadyLuna83_


	9. Chapter 7: Remembrance

Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to TES. Bethesda does.

Chapter 7: Remembrance

* * *

><p>We descended into the bowels of Bleak Falls Barrow. Light was scarce. Glowing mushrooms sprouted from fissures in the cave walls, creating an eerie ambiance. Bret continued to cast candlelight, allowing us to see more clearly in the dim conditions.<p>

"What is this place?" whispered Bret.

We entered a nest. The foul smell of rotting flesh permeated my nostrils. With my enhanced sense of smell, it was difficult not to gag from the putrid odor. Silky carpets of spiderwebs blanketed the stone walls and ceiling. Large egg sacs were stacked in the corners of the cavern and mummified human and skeever carcasses littered the sticky floor.

This was not a happy place.

A pained groan came from the far side of the cavern. I could see a man hanging from the wall, cocooned in thick spider silk.

"There's someone over there," said Bret.

I took a step forward before Fang started barking uncontrollably, warning me not to go further. A loud screech echoed through the cavern, causing my heart rate to jump.

Two large spiders dropped from burrows hidden in the ceiling and onto the ground before us. The spiders' fangs snapped as they approached, eager and hungry. One spider lunged at me, fangs ready to strike. I ducked low to the ground, the spider sailing over me. I jammed my dagger upward and into its body, slicing deep from thorax to abdomen, spilling its innards and organs. The spider crashed into the wall behind me, making a sickening thud then slid to the ground. One spider down.

Bret lobbed firebolts at the second spider until it succumbed to the flames. The spider sizzled and popped as the fire engulfed it, leaving an ashen husk. And two spiders down.

"Hurry, cut me down," wailed the man hung up on the wall.

We got halfway into the cave before the mother of all spiders dropped in front of us. This one was easily ten times bigger than the smaller two. I quickly grabbed my bow and launched arrows at it. It continued to advance towards me, its eight eyes lusting, hungry for fresh food. The arrows did little to slow down the spider.

"Hey, a little help here, Bret," I shouted, releasing another arrow, striking one of the spider's eight eyes. The spider screeched and recoiled.

Bret summoned a fireball, the orange and red flames dancing between his open palms, growing in intensity.

The spider crouched low to the ground, readying to pounce. Saliva and poison dripped from its massive fangs. As the spider sprang forward, Bret released the spell, trapping the arachnid in a vortex of scorching fire. The creature writhed and shrieked as the flames consumed it. It reared back on its hind legs in an attempt for one last attack. I notched an arrow and released, the arrow striking the spider in the heart. The spider crumpled forward, motionless, lifeless. Dead.

We approached the man hanging on the far wall. It was a Dunmer.

"Are you Arvel?" I asked, breathing heavily, still catching my breath.

"It's Arvel the Swift," the man responded arrogantly. "And I'd appreciate it of you'd cut me down this instant."

"Hold up. Where's the stolen heirloom? Your fellow-now-dead-comrade claimed you possessed it."

"I'm not going to hand it over to you. It's mine."

"I have no problem taking it from your dead body. The choice is yours."

"Forget it."

I looked back at Bret. "Would you like to help me out with this s'wit?"

"Of course," Bret smiled and cracked his knuckles. He summoned a shock spell and released the electric energy at Arvel. The Dunmer convulsed from the spell, shaking violently as the electric current traveled through his body.

"Alright!" he squealed. "I'll give it to you! Just stop!"

Bret closed his hands, ceasing the spell.

"Before I cut you down, tell me..." I said, crossing my arms. "Why is the claw so damn special? Why steal it?"

"It's a key, you idiot," Arvel panted, still catching his breath from his minor electrocution. "It opens a door deeper in the barrow. It's rumored there's mass treasure and riches in Bleak Falls. If you cut me down...and _don't kill me_," he raised his voice emphasizing the 'do not kill part.' "I'll share the loot with you."

The words "treasure," "riches," and "loot" perked my interest. I've always enjoyed a good dungeon dive for forgotten riches and artifacts. People pay incredibly well for valuable jewels, weapons and enchanted clothing. I would be insane if I refused this opportunity. I liked my gold.

However, "share" wasn't a word in my everyday vocabulary when it involves someone who stole from an honorable man like Lucan.

Before Arvel could utter another word, I slammed my dagger into his chest, piercing his heart. Arvel screeched in pain, his eyes widened at the sight of the dagger lodged in his chest. I rapidly jerked the dagger out, blood splattering from the wound and sliced his throat, ensuring a quick death. Blood oozed out of Arvel's mouth and throat, his head falling forward as he exhaled a final time.

"Was that even necessary?" asked Bret hysterically.

"Yes." I casually wiped the blood spatter off my face with my hide gauntlet.

I used my dagger to cut through the thick strands of spiderweb, and Arvel tumbled to the ground. I grabbed the leather satchel from around his shoulder and rummaged through it.

"He was willing to hand over the claw, yet you didn't hesitate to kill him anyways," rebuked Bret.

"He stole from Lucan. That's reason enough for his death. And who's not to say he would have attempted to kill us the first opportunity he had. Is it worth the risk?"

There was a slight pause as Bret pondered my words.

I whirled around and faced him, pissed off and angry. "And you said you didn't believe I was a monster! Are you negating your word?"

I don't like people thinking I'm a monster, even though I technically was one. But I'm also human. A human capable of emotions and possessed a soft, somewhat loving heart. But like I said before, that soft side will be my downfall.

"No, I still don't think you're a monster. I just don't understand you."

"Nor should you," I replied coldly as I pulled out an object wrapped in an oil cloth and untied the string. Inside was the golden claw.

I hated to admit I had developed a slight crush on Bret, but that feeling was drop kicked into the fiery pits of Oblivion. That was another one of my Golden Rules: never, ever, under any circumstances, fall in love. I wasn't falling in love with Bret, hell no, but I had to make sure I didn't put myself into a situation where that could occur. Use a man, sure, that's fine. Take what you need and leave him. Easy peasy. But don't fall for him. That was foolish and just asking for trouble. No man would understand me. Well, not anymore. Only Aron understood me and my ways. He was the only living soul, besides my parents, who knew what I was and accepted me for it. Loved me for it.

"Bryn, I..."

"Don't, Bret," I said, holding up my hand to stop him from speaking. "I don't want to hear it. Let's just move on and see what's at the end of the barrow."

* * *

><p>We walked through the passageways in silence. I could feel tension radiating from Bret. He was still pissed. I didn't feel bad for being a bitch, but I knew I could have handled the situation a little better.<p>

My defensive instincts kicked in as soon as we entered what appeared to be a massive crypt. Something was not right. Death and the heavy feeling of unrest saturated the stuffy, stagnate air. Fang crouched low to the ground, ready to attack. Whoever or whatever resided in this crypt was angry and did not welcome the living.

"Be ready," I whispered.

Instantly Bret readied a frost spell in each hand and scanned the surrounding rooms for any movement.

Together we cautiously maneuvered through the corridors. This was not just a crypt. This was a crypt labyrinth.

Long-dead humanoid cadavers rested on stone chambers carved into the walls. Their taut, bluish flesh mummified the underlying muscles and tissues, giving them a gruesome zombie-like appearance.

My ears listened intently, trying to pick up the slightest noise.

A clay pot shattered behind us. Bret and I whipped around to see one of the dead creatures step out of its sarcophagus. Its skeletal face grinned, its hollowed eyes glowed an eerie blue as it charged us. Bret released an icicle spell at the creature. The icicle impaled it, frost spreading over its flesh, slowing it down. I began launching arrows as Bret threw another icicle.

The second icicle completely froze the creature. I used this to my advantage as I raced towards it, unsheathed my dagger and slammed the blade into its jugular then into its heart. Black, inky blood oozed from the wounds. The blue light in the sockets faded as I tore the dagger from its body, and the creature fell dead (again) to the dust covered floor.

Behind us we heard two more loud pops and the sound of metal clanging to the ground. We turned to the direction of the noise as two more creatures step out of coffins and another tumbled out of its wall catacomb. All three roared in anger and rushed towards us.

"Aw, shit," I moaned.

I launched arrows at the creatures. These ones were armed with armor and weapons.

"Bret! Ice the bastards!"

Bret didn't hesitate to hurl icicle and frost spells towards the undead monsters. Fang, careful to avoid the spells, tackled one creature, digging his sharp claws into tissue and began tearing apart its flesh. The creature wailed and tried to shove Fang off as the wolf mutilated it with his strong, serrated teeth.

Bret's open palm released a powerful mist of tiny ice particles, encasing an undead in a layer of frozen crystal. I thrusted my blade deep into the heart of the immobile monster. The eyes faded, and it sagged lifelessly to the ground.

The last undead monster blocked Bret's icicle attacks with its iron shield. It growled as it advanced towards me, sword at the ready. It thrusted the blade at me, but I parried the strike with my dagger and shoved the creature away. It stumbled backwards a few feet. Before it could regain its balance, I hurled my dagger at it. The blade struck the creature in its eye socket, penetrating deep into its skull. The shield and sword fell from its hands as it dropped to its knees before collapsing face first. I grabbed its sword off the ground and impaled it in the heart. Now the bastard was dead.

I bent down to retrieve my dagger embedded in its skull.

"What the fetch were those?" I asked, kicking the creature over to get a good look at its hideous face.

"I've never seen undead like these before," replied Bret, bending down and grabbing the iron shield. He smoothed his hand over the shield's grooves and worn engravings, wiping away centuries of dust and cobwebs. "Whatever they were, they're ancient. Long-dead Nordic warriors of some sort. At least we know they're susceptible to magicka. The frost spells seemed to slow them down significantly."

I picked up one of the swords and shield. The sword was still miraculously sharp after centuries of disuse. No sense in leaving a weapon and shield like this behind. Especially since there may be more of those ghastly creatures up ahead.

* * *

><p>"This must be the door Arvel was taking about," said Bret running his hand over the sealed, golden door. "Get out the claw, Bryn. Arvel said it was a key."<p>

The door was a puzzle. I fetching hate puzzles.

I pulled out the golden claw from its cloth. Thankfully the claw had the door combination embossed in the palm. After matching the door and claw carvings, I placed the claw into the center panel on the door and twisted. The door groaned as it opened, revealing a narrow tunnel.

"Let's move on," I said and stuffed the claw into my satchel.

The tunnel opened up to an open underground chamber. Green vines draped the mossy, stone walls and giant ferns dotted the moist landscape near a flowing, underground stream. I took in the fresh air. It was nice to finally get out of the stuffy tunnels and rooms of the barrow.

A path led to a raised dais with a chest and a large, stone sarcophagus. Behind it stood a great curved wall and a stone stairway.

"That has to be where the treasure is," I exclaimed happily, pointing towards the chest. Treasure and riches always excited me. Treasure meant gold and gold meant hearty meals, clean inn beds and new clothing. What can I say? I was a woman, after all.

Before we reached the top of the platform, the lid of the sarcophagus slid open and clattered to the stone ground, echoing throughout the cavern. A fierce looking creature clad in ancient Nordic armor, similar to the undead inside the crypt, rose out of the stone coffin and bellowed a thunderous battle cry.

I instantly shot arrows at the creature, but it swatted them away as if they were mere harmless twigs. I charged forward with the shield and sword in hand.

"You know what to do, Bret!" I barked.

Bret nodded and summoned an ice spell in one hand and a fireball in the other and began launching firebolts and icicles at the creature. The spells seemed to slow it down but not significantly enough to immobilize it.

I reached the platform with Fang at my heels and immediately attacked with the sword. The creature easily parried the blow with its own sword, but I quickly counterattacked by bashing the creature in the gut with the iron shield. It stumbled backwards, and Fang dove in for the attack. He bit off a chunk of muscle from the creature's leg and leapt out of the way to avoid its sword. Fury seethed from the creature's eyes.

Uh oh, this was bad.

"FUS!"

A wave if powerful energy emitted from its skeletal mouth, launching me backwards several feet. Air rushed out of my lungs upon impact with the ground, and my head smashed on the stone floor. I struggled to sit up, gasping for air, clutching my dazed head. Bret continued to cast spells from the distance, but the creature continued to advance. I reached for my fallen sword and shield and staggered to my feet. Suddenly a bright crimson symbol appeared on the ground a few feet before the undead warrior.

"Don't move, Bryn!" Bret shouted.

The creature unknowingly stepped on the fire rune and instantly burst into flames. It screeched as it flailed its arms, trying to extinguish the fire. Flesh melted off its limbs and face, revealing bloodied and charred bone.

Distracted by the fire, the creature didn't react in time as I drove the sword into its chest and thrusted upward with all my strength. The sword sawed through layers of bone and tissue until the blade tore all the way through the top of the shoulder, severing its left arm and rendered it useless.

I clenched my teeth and raised my sword to attack again. I swung downward, but the monster parried and riposted, slicing my shield arm and slashing deep into my torso. My shield clanged to the ground. I winced in pain, blood pouring from the gash, but I continued to fight. Adrenaline pumped through my veins as I counterattacked, this time striking the creature's sword arm. The sword dropped from its hand, and I attacked again, lunging forward and piercing the creature's gut. I yanked the sword out, jumped and kicked the monster square in the chest, sending it crashing onto its back. Not wasting any time, I slammed the blade into its undead heart and twisted the hilt with ruthless force. Black blood gushed out from the wound as I continued to twist, deeper and deeper, creating a gaping, blood-filled crater into its chest.

The life in the monster's eyes faded, and its head rolled to the side. Finally it was dead...for good.

I released my grip on the sword and dropped to my knees, gasping violently for air, clutching to my injured side in an attempt to stop the blood from flowing from the deep laceration.

Exhaustion washed over me. I needed a healer or I would bleed out. And I needed one now.

Singing. I heard singing. Was I dying?

I heard distant chanting coming from near the wall. I lulled my head to the side in the direction of the eerie, mesmerizing sound.

_What on Nirn is that?_

On the large, arched wall were words from an ancient, forgotten language etched in the stone. One of the engravings glowed. Blue and white light churned from it, swirling, shining brightly. It called to me. Demanded my attention.

Time seemed to cease. I willed my legs to move, and I shakily stood up. The throbbing pain in my arm and side subsided as I limped towards the wall. Darkness surrounded me the closer I got, the chanting intensifying. The world around me blurred. A mysterious wind rushed around me, whipping my hair loose and blowing it wildly behind me. My eyes blazed bright gold. That single carving beckoned me. Closer. And closer. I only focused on the wall.

I heard shouting behind me. It must have been Bret calling for me. Something grabbed onto my arm and tried to pull me away from the wall. I jerked my arm out of its grasp and continued forward. I didn't care about Bret at that particular moment. Nor anything else for that matter.

I reached for the wall, the carving, the word. Force. I could read the language etched into the wall. The glowing word read "force."

My world spun, thrusting me into a familiar state of consciousness. My body was too weak to handle the energy that flowed from the wall to the depths of my soul.

I've felt this power before. A long forgotten memory flashed through my mind. Me, a young child, using an incredible and ancient power against Hircine. Fire. I used fire. I Shouted fire at Hircine after he killed my mother in front of me. I remembered.

My body shut down, the memory faded, and I welcomed the comforting darkness as it consumed me.

-0-

Thanks for reading!

_-LadyLuna83_


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